Hunting the Slave
by The Kujaku
Summary: This is the follow-on to The Peacock Trilogy. After the battle with the Demons, Yumichika has lost not only Ruri'iro Kujaku, but his seductive reiatsu, as well. Still, his physical beauty returns to its full height, and when Yumichika finds himself kidnapped and sold into slavery, Ikkaku will stop at nothing to rescue him from the depraved outlying kingdoms.
1. Chapter 1

_**Dear Reader, s**__**o this is the follow-on to the Peacock, and while it starts off pretty innocently, it gets very, er . . . wild in later chapters. I shall, of course, post appropriate warnings when the times come. But this should start you off nice and easy! Happy reading! TK**_

Chapter 1 Rebuilding

"_The places I've seen and the roads in between  
__Make me wonder why  
__I'm searching for my dreams up in the sky."_

_Had to Fall in Love  
_Justin Hayward

The days were growing shorter. In the meadow above Venla, the afternoon shadows were appearing earlier each day and stretching east to their full length in much quicker fashion than even a few weeks ago. The days were still warm and dry, and in the mornings, the yellow-suffused light crept up the mountain like the tide swelling a great river basin. The rays would spill over the treetops and into the meadow, bringing the whole place came to life. The deer came to the edge of the forest to feed. Chiffchaffs could be heard warbling in the trees and over the run of the waving grass. They were on their way south, stopping for a rest in the sub-alpine safety of the open space, where insects were plentiful in the morning activity of the deep, browning grass. The sound of a cuckoo came from somewhere deep in the wood, only to be returned by a louder voice nearby.

It was not yet cold enough to bring overnight frost, but certainly cold enough for a man to see his breath in the early hours of dawn.

Of course, Yumichika had known the days were getting shorter—everyone knew the work of the seasons; but this morning was the first time it had been truly perceptible to him. He had continued his practice of rising before the sun, and this morning he had gone outside to bring in some wood to make a cooking fire. As he picked up the logs, he noticed that the quality of the darkness had changed. It was much deeper and stiller. And it occurred to him that dawn was still at least an hour away.

Yumichika had, at one time, been extraordinarily attuned to the passage of the hours. His circadian clock was precise, and he had gotten on quite well without ever needing a time-telling device of any kind. He had lost much of that sensitivity during his years in the Gotei 13. In the Seireitei, where electronic gadgets held sway, there had been no need to rely on his own senses with regard to the time. The bells rang out the hour and the half-hour; on every street corner someone could be found with a watch or soul phone displaying the time.

But here in the mountains, there were no such amenities to be found. Technology had not crept into this corner of Soul Society; in fact, there were many places in Soul Society where a simplistic, rugged life still prevailed.

Yumichika was glad of it. He and Ikkaku had only been back in the meadow for two months, but his awareness of the cues of nature and his own body was gradually returning. It was a slow process, but this came as no surprise. _Everything_ had become a slow process. Yumichika's deficit of reiatsu had made even the simplest of tasks into a chore. He knew that this act of bringing in firewood would leave him exhausted and needing to rest before settling down to the task of making breakfast. And even once the fire was stoked and the breakfast served piping hot onto the plates, he would eat very little, if at all. No spirit energy meant to appetite.

He could have been tempted to fret and bemoan the situation, but no such complaint could be heard on his lips or found in his heart. The truth was that there was no place in Soul Society he would rather be, and he was already starting to feel comfortable here again, even if the absence of his zanpakuto held him in a sort of enduring trickle of melancholy.

The villagers in Venla had been welcoming and generous. When Ikkaku had made it clear that he could not begin work at the mill until the cottage was restored and Yumichika safely installed and healthy enough to be left on his own, Yenset assured him that the job would be there for him whenever he was ready to start. The rest of the village magnanimously donated a few pieces of furniture, plenty of cookware and utensils; linens, blankets and floor coverings; food enough for a dozen men; and a pleasing supply of fabrics and sewing implements.

Now, with fall right around the corner and winter only a few short mountain-months off, Yumichika was determined to improve his condition. He did not want to be this weak and frail when the snow came, for fear it would turn him into a housebound invalid. Yet, regaining his strength and his reiatsu was not as quickly accomplished as in the past. And although he knew the reason for this, he would not dwell on it. The loss of Ruri'iro Kujaku was something that he kept far removed from deliberate thought.

He gathered half a dozen logs into his arms and returned to the cottage, keeping as quiet as possible so as not to wake Ikkaku who, for once, was not knocking the pinecones off the trees with his snoring. Unloading the logs next to the hearth, he went outside to bring in some more. There was usually a fair sized stack of logs on the stones beside the fireplace, and a well-filled tinder box. But last night, they had used the last of the logs to counter the cold, which was stealing into the room a little more each night; and they'd not restocked before going to bed.

If Yumichika moved quickly—or as quickly as he could, given his condition—he could have two, maybe even three of four, armfuls of wood stacked inside before Ikkaku woke up. Completing the task while Ikkaku was asleep was critical, for Yumichika knew that Ikkaku would blow his top if he were to find Yumichika taking part in what he perceived to be too much exertion.

The last thing he wanted was a confrontation, but a confrontation after the fact was better than one mid-activity. He filled his arms again and went back to the cottage. He opened the door with his back, and turning inside, stopped short.

Ikkaku stood in front of him, arms crossed over his bare chest, a challenging simper curling one corner of his mouth, making him look both clownish and demonic in the dim, flickering light of the oil lamp Yumichika had lit earlier.

"Oh! Ikkaku," Yumichika startled. He gave a disarming smile. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Obviously," Ikkaku replied. He looked at the wood in Yumichka's arms. "You didn't want me to catch you doing something you know you're not supposed to do."

"Come now, Ikakku," Yumichika was charmingly dismissive of his concern. "I much stronger now than I was when we got here. I think I can carry more than one armload of wood without keeling over." He sidestepped around him.

"Uh-huh," Ikkaku replied. "Until you _do_ keel over."

"Do I look like I'm going to keel over?" Yumichika asked, although he had not intended that Ikkaku should answer him. He began unloading the logs on top of the ones he had brought in earlier.

Ikkaku helped him set the logs down then took him by the shoulders, turning him so they were facing each other.

"You look like someone who's still recovering," he said. "And I'll be damned if I'm going to let you overdo it."

It came naturally to Yumichika to press closer and gaze up at him with bewitching eyes, but there was nothing behind it. It was a movement he had long used to seduce others, but this time there was no allure behind it. It was a mechanism and nothing more. An action without any energy behind it. It was habit, and he no longer had the power to support that habit.

Embarrassed, he stepped back, away from Ikkaku's hands on his shoulders, and looked down, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I keep doing that. "

But Ikkaku was not angry with him. "I don't mind it," he replied. "I probably mind it less now than I ever have."

"That's because there's nothing to it anymore," Yumichika lamented. "You used to see it as a threat—"

"Well, you _did_ use it for the wrong reasons in the past, Yumichika," Ikkaku reminded him. "Not just on others, but on me, too. So, I guess I did feel threatened by it." He paused, then added, "But there were also times when . . . it felt good. Really good."

"Yes, well . . . those days are gone," Yumichika stated, turning back towards the door. "I couldn't seduce a field mouse now—"

"Why would you want to seduce a field mouse?" Ikkaku quipped. He was determined to keep Yumichika's spirits up at the same time as scolding him; for while Yumichika was clearly happy in their return to the meadow, the other tragedies that weighed him down were so burdensome that Ikkaku had to work very hard to ensure melancholy did not overtake his friend.

For there were moments of grief and sadness, and these, more than Yumichika's protracted physical weakness, were what kept Ikkaku from taking up his job at the mill. He was fearful of leaving Yumichika alone – not out of any idea that Yumichika would take his own life, for Ikkaku knew that would never happen—but rather, because everything he had witnessed over the past several months, including Yumichika's deliverance from death, had left him shaken to his very core. If Yumichika had brought forth such a power as Ruri'iro Kujaku that had later dissolved into thin air . . . could Yumichika's moroseness somehow wreak the same fate upon his own body? Without Ruri'iro Kujaku's spirit energy to sustain him, would he simply dissipate on the wind in a zephyr of grief and loneliness?

Until he was certain that Yumichika was safe from his own wretchedness, he did not feel comfortable leaving him alone.

"It was just a figure of speech," Yumichika replied in a humorless voice. He went outside and back to the wood pile.

Ikkaku followed then came around him and leaned against the neatly stacked splits, preventing Yumichika from picking up any more.

"Why does it bother you so much?" he asked. "Do you really still want to be able to seduce people?"

Yumichika did not answer right away. After several seconds, he evaded the question. "Aren't you cold out here, half-naked?"

"I like it," Ikkaku replied. "But you're avoiding my question. Do you still want to seduce people?"

Yumichika mumbled something as he edged over to the old stone wall surrounding the garden. Both the wall and the garden were still in disrepair – projects to be undertaken next year. Yumichika ran his hand over the moss-covered top of one intact portion of the wall.

"What?" Ikkaku asked, remaining where he stood at the wood pile. "I didn't hear you."

Yumichika did not face him but raised his voice loud enough to hear. "I want to know I still have the ability, if I need it."

"And you think you don't have that ability anymore?" Ikkaku posed.

"No," Yumichika frowned into the darkness that stretched out over the meadow beyond the garden. He saw an owl, black against the lighter line of the trees, returning to its roost after a night of hunting. Another sure sign morning was drawing near.

Ikkaku pushed away from the wood pile and moved to stand beside him. "Well, let me assure you, you still have the ability. It's just . . . it's different from before, because it feels like . . . like there's a choice, whereas before no one ever had a choice. It's not seduction; it's more like . . . a natural attraction."

"Which makes me like everyone else," Yumichika said flatly.

Ikkaku gave a subtle laugh. "You'll never be like everyone else, Yumichika. And I see now, that's a good thing." A pause. "Besides, you're still more beautiful than anyone else—although you really do need to put some more weight on. It kinda scares me to see you so thin."

"Do you think I'll ever regain my reiatsu?" Yumichika asked tepidly. It was a subject that terrified him, and this was his first time bringing it up.

Ikkaku proceeded cautiously. "Well, remember what Captain Unohana said: you'll probably regain enough energy to return to a . . . a normal level of energy, enough to sustain your soul. But the amount of reiatsu you had before, that's not likely to happen again." A pause. "But, uh, don't forget that the amount of reiatsu it takes to sustain your soul is already a lot more than most souls need. But that doesn't really matter. I mean, we'll be living here, just like we used to. You won't need all that spiritual pressure anymore."

Yumichika was perfectly still. "I will, if I want to bring Ruri'iro Kujaku back."

Ikkaku looked round at him in surprise. "Bring—Yumichika, I don't think that's possible."

"If I could give life to him once, maybe I can do it again."

At a loss for words, Ikkaku could only stare.

Yumichika went on. "He always told me that I . . . I was much more powerful than he was. I never believed him, but . . . now I know . . . he never lied to me. And if he was strong enough to save my life, and I'm stronger than him, then I must be strong enough to save his life. I just have to regain my reiatsu."

"But—but Yumichika, you're not saving his life. He's—he's gone. When he brought you—" He caught himself before uttering "back to life", just barely averting a whole new set of worries. "When he healed you, he made it very clear to me that he wasn't coming back, that he was giving everything he had to save you."

"That's why I can't give up," Yumichika replied. "I know there has to be a way. He came from my soul, and I—somehow, I've got to be able to bring him back."

Ikkaku sighed. "I don't want to tell you not to try, but if I see you risking your life . . . Yumichika, I won't let you do that. And I don't think Ruri'iro Kujaku would want you to do that, either."

"How can you know what he'd want?" Yumichika asked. It was not a challenge or a sneer. It was merely a statement of disbelief to which Yumichika was not expecting an answer. So, when he got one, he was stunned.

"Because he told me," Ikkaku said bluntly. He had already related to Yumichika the short version of what had happened in the mourning shrine with the previously agreed-upon deceptions firmly in place, but he had never told him of his promise to Ruri'iro Kujaku. "He knew he wasn't going to be here to watch out for you, so he made me give my word that I . . . would never leave you again."

"You . . . spoke to him?"

Ikkaku nodded.

"So, this is all—you're doing this because of a promise you made to him?"

"No, no," Ikkaku said firmly. "I told you . . . I had already decided to leave the Gotei 13 from the time I saw how you were living in Mito—well, and—and because I realized that you needed me. I had always thought it was just me who needed you, so when I opened my eyes enough to see the truth, I decided to leave the Gotei 13. I had already made that decision before the demons attacked—"

"I wasn't saying it as a bad thing, Ikkaku," Yumichika replied. "Actually, I was touched to think that you and Ruri'iro Kujaku might have come to an understanding that allowed him to exact a promise from you."

"It was as much a promise to myself as it was to him," Ikkaku replied, then adding with grudging admiration, "But he was . . . he was like nothing I'd ever seen. I had no idea the kind of power he had." He thought it was ironic that he now knew of a power Ruri'iro Kujaku had possessed that even Yumichika did not know about. "And he loved you more than anything or anyone else."

"I'm going to find a way to bring him back," Yumichika stated again, and it was clear he believed what he was saying.

His conviction almost made Ikkaku think it might be possible to restore the peacock.

Almost.

"It'll be getting light soon," Ikkaku noted. "I'll bring more wood inside. You can get started making breakfast."

"So early?" Yumichika raised an eyebrow. "You never eat this early. You're never _up_ this early."

"It's your own fault," Ikkaku replied. "You woke me up, and now there's no way I'll be able to go back to sleep. Maybe I'll work on this wall a bit while you're getting breakfast ready—" he said, referring to the garden wall.

"Unh, no," Yumichika protested firmly. "You think you're going to work on this then come into breakfast all stinky and sweaty? No. No. I barely have an appetite as it is. I don't need you to ruin what little I have."

Ikkaku smiled to himself. This was a brief flash of the old Yumichika, and its appearance was most welcome. He took a step forward. "You like me stinky and sweaty."

"Ohh, don't be disgusting," Yumichika sniffed, turning back towards the cottage door. He had gone only a couple steps when he heard Ikkaku's voice low and challenging at his shoulder.

"Maybe _you_ need to get stinky and sweaty," he suggested, and in the next moment, he wrapped his arms around Yumichika and twisted him down onto the grass, straddling across his waist and holding his wrists to the ground.

"What are you doing?!" Yumichika demanded. "Get off of me! This ground is cold!"

"When was the last time we wrestled?" Ikkaku wondered out loud.

"Who cares?" Yumichika squirmed beneath him. "You always won, and—"

"Yeah, but you made it fun," Ikkaku cut him off. "You used to at least try to win."

"Until I learned it was useless," Yumichika griped. "Now, get off me. Honestly, you're such a buffoon sometimes."

"So you're not even going to try to fight me?" Ikkaku lamented.

"I'm really not in any condition, Ikkaku. I'm still recovering, you know. I can barely go an hour without having to stop and rest. And –hey, you don't want me bringing in the wood, but you want to wrestle with me? It's cold down here, and the ground is wet from all the dew. Do you want me to get sick? What's the matter with—"

Ikkaku swooped in and pressed his mouth to Yumichika's, effectively silencing him.

It was an unexpected move. They had not shared such an intimacy in more years than either of them could remember, and since leaving the Seireitei, their relationship had taken on a character that was new to both of them. Yumichika's increased reticence and docility, along with Ikkaku's new sense of responsibility had made for a rather staid situation that had been entirely chaste.

What Ikkaku felt for Yumichika was not lustful or erotic. It was a kind of love that he had long believed existed, only he had never encountered it. Not until that moment in the mourning shrine when Ruri'iro Kujaku had sacrificed his own life, his very existence, in order to restore life to Yumichika.

That act had done something to change Ikkaku. For the first time, he felt as if he were living for the good of someone else. There was no guilt involved. No sense of obligation or amendment. He was willingly and joyfully putting someone else's needs ahead of his own.

The kiss had not been an attempt to incite anything greater. It had not been intended as a sensual encounter, although it certainly had its _sensuous_ aspects. It had simply bounced into Ikkaku's mind as the most inoffensive and humorous way to silence Yumichika's litany of complaints. And if it aroused pleasant memories and feelings of affection at the same time, that was a good thing.

As he drew back, Ikkaku saw Yumichika looking up at him in the paling darkness. A bit of gray was entering the sky.

"Any more complaints?" Ikkaku asked wryly.

Yumichika's voice was quiet. "No," he replied. "But . . . will—will you kiss me again? Just like that?"

Ikkaku complied.

A smile crept over Yumichika's face. "That's how it's supposed to feel . . . isn't it?" he said in subdued wonder. "It's supposed to be that easy."

"I'm not the person to ask," Ikkaku replied. "I don't have any experience at this stuff, but . . . well, if I had to give my opinion . . . yeah, it seemed right." Then, with a self-deprecating laugh, he added, "I mean, this time I didn't feel like running away or tearing your clothes off."

"Don't be crude," Yumichika chided. "I'm trying to be serious!"

"So am I," Ikkaku insisted. "My point is that . . . now that you don't have all that seductive reiatsu swirling around you, I know that whatever I'm feeling is really my own and not the result of your spirit energy."

"What _are_ you feeling?"

"You don't really expect me to say it, do you?"

Yumichika was not dissuaded. "I'm just asking you a question."

Ikkaku rolled to lie at Yumichika's side. He lay on his back, hands behind his head, fingers laced together. Above him, he could see the stars, fewer in the lightening eastern sky, more in the still dark western sky. "I love you. The way I should," he said softly.

_The way I should._

Yumichika did not have to ask him what he meant by this. He knew that it wasn't simply an apology of sorts for Ikkaku's past failures to protect him or to accept him as he was. No, this was an admission that the whole nature of Ikkaku's love had been skewed, that his devotion had been feeble because the underpinning love had been defective. There had always been an erotic undercurrent running through the relationship between the two men, and while it had certainly made for some entertaining moments, it had done much more to create pain and frustration. Yumichika had only to think of the torment he'd suffered in Maiweg's Orchard and on the bank of the Dambach stream over a hundred years ago to remind him what unregulated lust and unopposed sexual temptation could lead to. The jealousy and distrust that Ikkaku's father, Totui, had been able to engender in the two of them would not have been possible had they not allowed the more lascivious aspects of their persons to overshadow reason and compassion. For Yumichika, the nature of his love for Ikkaku had begun without a sexual aspect, only for it to creep in later. For Ikkaku, he had never even viewed what he felt for Yumichika as love. He'd been fond of him, affectionate towards him, and ever wary of the carnal allure that followed Yumichika everywhere he went. He'd given in to that allure often enough; he'd been unable to resist. But even without Yumichika's often playful and usually ill-timed deployment of his seductive abilities, Ikkaku had always had a tacit knowledge that his attraction to Yumichika had a sexual component to it that was not due to the sultry reiatsu and that prevented him from treating Yumichika as he deserved.

He wanted to love Yumichika without condition, and now that Yumichika's seductive power had been stripped away, here was his chance to love him without having to wonder if his love was genuine or the fleeting love of a lust-induced desire generated by a tempting spirit energy.

When Yumichika said nothing, Ikkaku asked, "You believe me, don't you?"

"I believe it's what you want," Yumichika replied evenly.

"But you don't think I'm there yet?" Ikkaku supposed, and he was not upset about it.

"I think you're on your way," Yumichika answered.

Ikkaku accepted this. "It's not easy to change, Yumichika," he admitted. "I never wanted to care about anyone, and I ended up caring about you. And . . . knowing your power—and Ruri'iro Kujaku's power—I tried to be careful, but you're hard to resist."

Yumichika grinned up into the starlight. "You're more of a Capchetin than you know."

This statement, coming out of the blue, stunned Ikkaku, but not in a bad way. "What do you know about it?" he asked. "You've never met any Capchetins."

"After you told me the story, I did some research. I wanted to know more about them," Yumichika replied. A pause. "I wanted to know if you . . . "

"If I what?"

"If you should be a Capchetin after all," Yumichika said softly.

"Did you forget? They don't exist in Soul Society," Ikkaku reminded him. "And even if they did, I've already been turned down once – for good reason. I don't believe in a lot of that stuff." No sooner had he spoken than a memory flashed through his head.

Yumichika's hospital room.

"_Don't let him die. I'll do anything. After all he's been through . . . can't you help him just this once?"_

To whom had he been directing his supplications? In those moments of fear and desperation, had he really considered, even for a split-second, that there might be something beyond his own understanding? A force greater than that which he could see and hear and touch? He recalled how Yumichika's death had cemented his unbelief. But then that death had been miraculously reversed and in a way he would never have imagined.

Perhaps there had been some kind of deific power behind Ruri'iro Kujaku's action, and the peacock had simply been the tool to answer Ikkaku's plea.

It was possible.

Huh. The admission of the possibility of a god beyond Soul Reapers was hardly a banner statement for Ikkaku's induction into a religious brotherhood.

"That's because you've only ever wanted to depend on yourself," Yumichika said, pulling him out of his thoughts. "And you've only ever wanted to obey yourself. Well, except with Captain Zaraki. You made him your god for a long time." A pause. "But I think there's still some part of you that wants to believe that there's a power beyond anything you can imagine."

"Are you trying to be a psychiatrist?" Ikkaku scoffed with an uncomfortable laugh. "Or a—a philosopher?"

"Neither," Yumichika replied earnestly. "I just want you to be happy."

"And you think being a Capchetin would make me happy?" Ikkaku posed dubiously.

"I don't know," Yumichika shrugged. "Maybe."

"You're nuts," Ikkaku chuckled, getting to his feet and extending his hand. "Besides, I am happy. And I don't want you worrying about me. I'm supposed to be looking after you, remember?"

"I think it goes both ways," Yumichika said, accepting his hand. He was on his feet with one strong pull.

"Yeah, I guess it does," Ikkaku replied. "Now, get inside and start fixing some breakfast while I work on this wall."

"We're back to that? I told you I don't want you coming in smelling like a—"

"Yumichika!"

Yumichika scuttered back into the cottage without another word. Only a smile.

* * *

Head Captain Genyrusai Yamamoto looked out over the northern reaches of the Seireitei as he strolled along the colonnade in the cool of the evening. All was still, and for this he was thankful. It had seemed, for quite some time now, that no sooner did one calamity end than another began. But all had been quiet since the destruction of the demons nearly eight months ago. Even though Heykibi was still unaccounted for, the fact that no further demon incursions was some indication that either the threat was gone or at least so degraded that it could not be counted upon at present to pose a danger.

Ayasegawa had been safely sequestered away in some remote mountain sanctuary, and only a few Shinigami were privy to that location. Madarame had gone with him, and that was certainly reassuring, for Captain Yamamoto felt that any miscreant that might think of making use of Ayasegawa's abilities—or rather, those of his zanpakuto, now defunct—would have a hard time getting past Madarame. With time, Yamamoto felt certain that Ayasegawa could go back to living an undistinguished life, just another inhabitant of Soul Society. But until that day, the head captain must keep track of his whereabouts and ensure his safety – not only for Ayasegawa's own good, but for the good of Soul Society. For Captain Yamamoto was still not convinced that Ruri'iro Kujaku was truly dissolved.

And even the remotest possibility of the Atmen reappearing necessitated vigilance.

Captain Yamamoto sensed the presence of Captain Ukitake before the latter had even announced his arrival, but that was how it always was with the head captain.

"Juushiro," Yamamoto said, turning to face him. "What news have you brought?"

"Nothing new, sir," Juushiro replied. "Ayasegawa and Madarame appeared to be doing well. The cottage will be weather-ready by the time the first frost hits. I think it's going a little slow due to Ayasegawa's condition, even though he seems to be getting a bit stronger every time I go there."

"And they still don't know you're checking up on them?" Yamamoto asked, in the manner of seeking confirmation.

"They've never seen me, and Shunsui said the same thing. They've never even seemed to sense we were nearby," Juushiro answered. "I have to admit, I feel like I'm spying."

"You are, in a sense," the head captain said. "But it's for their protection."

"I still don't understand what the danger is," Captain Ukitake said. "Are you really afraid Heykibi will come for Ayasegawa? Surely, once he discovers Ruri'iro Kujaku has been dissolved, he'll have no reason to be interested in Ayasegawa anymore –if he's really interested in him to begin with. And we don't even know if Heykibi is still alive."

"It's not just Heykibi I'm worried about," Yamamoto explained. "As I've said before, an Atmen is a rare and much-desired power. People have done truly villainous things in the past to possess that power. If someone even suspects that there is a living master of an Atmen, they can go to great lengths to control that person. Every Atmen known to date has outlived its master, so no one would believe that Ayasegawa has outlived his Atmen. They would assume the Atmen is still alive. And that would put Ayasegawa in great danger. All it would take is one small slip of the tongue, one careless word, and he will become a hunted man."

"And in his current condition, there's no way he could defend himself," Juushiro concluded.

"Precisely," Captain Yamamoto said, his voice sounding like a low growl. "And it is doubtful he will ever be able to defend himself the way he could when he was a Shinigami. No matter how much of his reiatsu and physical strength he regains, he will never be as he once was." A pause. "That is why I am depending on you and Shunsui to keep an eye on him and Madarame."

Juushiro nodded. He prepared to leave, but stopped. "Captain Kurotsuchi suspects Ruri'iro Kujaku was an Atmen, as well."

Yamamoto nodded slowly. "I know."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Dear Reader, There is a massive explanation in the middle of this chapter. And it's somewhat complex, so I hope it doesn't leave you too puzzled! This will be last "peaceful" chapter for some time to come. The "you know what" hits the fan next chapter, so enjoy some quiet while it lasts! ;-) Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter 1. I hope you will enjoy this chapter! Peace, TK**_

* * *

Chapter 2 Peace in the Mountains

"Wenn die weissen gipfel strahlen (When the white peaks glow)  
Hell in morgen sonnenshein( brightly in the early morning sunshine,)  
Wenn die grunen almen leuchtet (When the green pastures glow with light)  
Weis ich diese welt ist mein." (I know this world is mine.)

Mea Patria Montana  
German Folk Song

"Ah, Yumichika-san, I can see what you spent all winter doing."

Petra, the textile shop keeper's wife, took an assessing stroll around her favorite customer, nodding her admiration at the simple but stunning kimono Yumichika was wearing. It was pale violet – almost pastel—made of a peculiar shiny cotton blend, threads of blue, green and gold running here and there, like dashes in a water color. "I'm glad you made use of that cloth. I didn't think anyone would want it for anything." She grinned wryly. "I should have known you'd find what it was perfectly suited for." She looked at the sizeable sack Ikkaku had set down before the counter, and she knew it was full of things Yumichika had made over the cold months of winter. In years long gone by, he had always spent the colder months sewing. And even though it was Yumichika's first winter back on the mountain, Petra was pleased to think that things were picking up right where they had left off. "What have you brought for me?"

"Plenty of things to sell," Yumichika replied. He heaved the sack up onto the counter and untied the cord that held it closed. He drew out a bright red smockish thing – a traditional dress for the women of the area. "Now, this should go—"

"Oh, this goes into my closet!" Petra cut him off, snatching the item from his hands and holding it up in the light for a better look. "It looks about my size." She pressed it against her body, stretching it across the formidable bosom and ample hips of a woman who'd proudly borne many children into the world. "And just in time for the Spring Festival."

"I—now, did that really look like it would fit you?" Yumichika challenged with a glint his eye. "That cloth doesn't stretch—"

Ikkaku had edged towards the door. "Oh brother, you two are going to talk about clothes. That's my cue to take off. I'll meet you at the trough in a couple hours, Yumichika. Don't overdo it." He fixed Petra with a look. "Don't let him get carried away. Someone's gonna have to carry all the junk he buys, and that will end up being me."

"Are you saying Rudi and I sell junk?!"

Ikkaku was out the door before she could accost him any further.

He strolled down the dirt street towards the village square, and he could not stop smiling.

Now, anyone who knew Ikkaku knew that he was not the type of man to give off an appearance of joy and light-heartedness as a matter of course. No, Ikkaku was most often seen with an expression that, while it could not be called a scowl or even a frown, it conveyed, at the very least, a sort of neutral disinterestedness. And sometimes there was a wariness or a hint of challenge – none of which had bothered the residents of Venla, for they knew the man behind the face.

So, to see him smiling and beaming at the sunshine of a mild spring day, even while the uppermost reaches of the mountains were still in snow, was surprising and attractive.

Ah, but why shouldn't he be happy? In the seven months since returning to the meadow, events had been moving in a positive direction for the most part. Yumichika had been regaining his strength bit by bit, to the point where he had managed to walk the entire way down the mountain this morning without stopping. Yes, Ikkaku had carried the sack of clothes; but he'd watched with a strange sense of accomplishment when Yumichika had heaved it up onto the counter, for it was not an easy load. In addition, Yumichika's reiatsu had also been replenishing, but at a much slower rate than his physical health. It was not powerful enough for Ikkaku to discern whether it still retained any of its seductive quality; but even if it contained not one iota, that would suit Ikkaku just fine. Yumichika didn't need any enchancements to his attractiveness. He was as striking as ever before, although much more demur and less flirtatious than he had been. Still, under certain circumstances and given the right impetus, the timidity would melt away, and the narcissist would show his head for a moment or two before retreating back to some remote corner of his being to await the next exposition.

The loss of Ruri'iro Kujaku continued to haunt him, but like a ghoul whose fearsomeness fades in the first rays of dawn, the pain seemed to grow thinner and more remote with each day. Still, Ikkaku attributed this heroic optimism, not to Yumichika's acceptance of the azure peacock's demise, but rather to his dogged determination to find a way to restore him.

Yumichika did not speak of Ruri'iro Kujaku. He knew what Ikkaku would say: Ruri'iro Kujaku no longer existed. It was impossible to bring something back that no longer existed. And that stood to reason. But reason could only answer so many questions. At some point, a soul had to trust its own instincts, turn to faith . . . refuse to accept what its own senses seemed to prove.

Ikkaku was not sure why Yumichika held onto such a hope. What was it that made him think there was a possibility? For his own part, though, Ikkaku had to admit that he now knew of certain aspects of Ruri'iro Kujaku's abilities that might lead him to believe that the peacock was not so easily destroyed. But Yumichika did not know his zanpakuto's ability to restore life. And even Ikkaku had to wonder if it were possible for Ruri'iro Kujaku to restore himself. It seemed unlikely, given the peacock's fear and reluctance in the mourning shrine. He'd certainly behaved and spoken in a way that had lead Ikkaku to believe he would never be coming back.

Whatever the truth was, Ikkaku had decided to simply be grateful that Yumichika was improving in body and spirit. He had never forgotten the second chance he had been given, and he would do everything he could to keep Yumichika safe and happy. He would do everything he could to merit his love.

"Ikkaku-san."

Ikkaku looked back to see Obrecht approaching. The inn-owner had a small pull-cart behind him, and a pack over one shoulder.

"Obrecht-san," Ikkaku returned the greeting. "Looks like you've been buying."

"Oh-eh. You're always buying when you're running a business," Obrecht replied, shrugging off the pack as Ikkaku took it himself to carry. "How are things going? You must be busy up on the mountain. I hardly saw at all during the winter."

"Well, there was a lot of work to do up there," Ikkaku acknowledged. "I'd come down here to work at the mill and then go right back up to work on the place."

"You know, we'd all be happy to come up and lend a hand," Obrecht offered. "Beautiful place up there."

"Thanks for offering," Ikkaku replied. "I may take you up on it later. But right now, I think Yumichika's happy to have just me and him handling it."

Obrecht gave an affectionate chuckle. "I'll bet he likes to direct where every stone is laid."

"Well, he's got an eye for beauty," Ikkaku stated. "Heh, if it were me, I'd just sling a hammock in the trees and be done with it."

They continued on to the inn where Ikkaku helped him unload. Then, even though it was only mid-morning, the two men sat down to a pint. They made small talk for a few minutes, talking about the heavy spring melt and the danger it posed to the farms in the valley; the predictions for a hot summer; Obrecht's plans to put an extension on the inn.

"Oh, you can't do that," Ikkaku protested. "Nothing has changed here in the time me and Yumichika were gone. It should always stay the same. Some things should never change."

Obrecht nodded a smile. "You were gone for a long time."

"Over a hundred years," Ikkaku confirmed.

"I still can't believe you were a Shinigami," Obrecht said with a sense of awe in his voice, and he was a man not easily impressed. "And Yumichika! That seems impossible. Why, when he lived here, he couldn't hurt a fly. How could he have been a Shinigami? That's a job that involves a lot of fighting."

"You'd be surprised," Ikkaku replied. He found Obrecht's assertions both humorous and true. "Yumichika was . . . incredibly lethal." A pause, followed by a somber observation. "Maybe more lethal than any of us." He set his glass on the table and ran his hand over his scalp. "But he . . . he wasn't really cut out for it. I don't know if he ever really liked being in the Gotei 13 . . . "

"Is that why you came back here? He didn't want to stay anymore?" Obrecht asked.

"It's a complicated story," Ikkaku balked.

Obrecht nodded his understanding. "Your business is your own," he said without malice or any hint of peevishness. "But I do wonder about one thing. Maybe you can answer."

"Ask."

"What happened to his spirit energy?" Obrecht's voice was low, and even though no one else was present, he leaned across the table, as if preparing to discuss some great secret. "When he lived here before, he had so much energy that you could feel it whenever he walked by. Oh, we all knew he was keeping it suppressed, but you could always feel some part of it. It was very . . . well, you know what it was. Now, none of us has felt a thing."

Ikkaku had wanted to avoid going into too much detail, but after the way the villagers had welcomed them back with open arms, and with Obrecht being as good a man as Ikkaku had ever known, he decided that withholding the truth would only be rude and thoughtless.

"Yumichika has lost most of his spirit energy," Ikkaku replied. "He's gaining some of it back, but it won't go back to what it used to be."

"But how? Was he injured?"

Ikkaku decided to skip any recounting of his own abominable actions in casting Yumichika aside upon learning of his kido nature; none of that was germane to the main point of the story, which could be made without going into an examination of Ikkaku's own idiocy.

"Did you ever hear about the black demons?" he asked.

"We heard about them, but they never came here. A nasty business, that," Obrecht replied, shaking his head. "We heard they took a lot of lives."

"They started off just going after Shinigami, but later they went after the general public, too," Ikkaku related. "They were impossible to destroy. Except for Yumichika. His zanpakuto was able to kill them, and they knew it. This past winter, we had a battle with them—"

"At Mito, yes, we heard about that. We heard they were defeated."

Ikkaku nodded and reached for his glass. He drank slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he'd finished. He didn't know why, but he could not make eye contact with Obrecht as he told the tale.

"They were. Yumichika destroyed them." A pause. "In the battle, he was injured and was in danger of dying. His zanpakuto—Ruri'iro Kujaku was his name—was able to heal him enough to keep him from dying, but he was still very weak, and his reiatsu was nowhere near its former strength. It probably never will be." He drew in a deep breath. "In healing him, Ruri'iro Kujaku gave up his own existence."

"That's awful," Obrecht said.

"Yeah . . . " Ikkaku finished the contents of his glass. Obrecht promptly picked it up and went to the bar to refill it from the tap.

Ikkaku continued. "But at least one good thing has come from it."

"Oh?"

"Yumichika's back in the place that he never wanted to leave in the first place," Ikkaku stated. "He only left to go find me."

"And you left because of your father," Obrecht added.

Ikkaku nodded. "Yenset told me you all figured that one pretty quickly."

"Well, he was your father, and we didn't want to say anything against him," Obrecht admitted. "But we knew something wasn't right. When we found out you'd left, we knew Totui had something to do with it. And then Ayasegawa left – we didn't know about that until he'd been gone for quite some time. When we didn't see him over the course of a month, some folks went up to make sure he was okay. He was gone. At first we thought the slavers might have got hold of him. But then we figured it was more likely he'd gone looking for you. And when Totui left a few months later, we knew that the only reason he had settled in this valley was so he could cause trouble for you."

"Well, hopefully, he doesn't come back," Ikkaku stated. "I didn't see or hear of him once while I was in the Gotei 13."

"If he comes back, we'll run him off," Obrecht said assuredly. "This is a peaceful village, and we want it to stay that way." He set the frothing glass in front of his only patron.

"You're a good man, Obrecht," Ikkaku told him.

"Try as I can," came the humble reply.

They drank in silence for nearly a minute, then Ikkaku noted, "You mentioned slavers. I've only ever seen them once around here, and that was on the other side of the mountains when Yumichika and I first came here." He recalled the day, so long ago now, when he and Yumichika had come to the track along the foot of the southern edge of the mountains. There, they'd encountered a shabby band of traders who provided souls to the slavers. The men had had no stomach for a confrontation with Ikkaku and had left empty-handed. Ikkaku had seen no more of the slave trade since then, but he knew it was still ongoing, although he hadn't thought that it had been a lucrative business for many decades, maybe even a century.

"We don't see them often," Obrecht said. "Only now and then passing through – without slaves, of course. They'd never dare come here with their . . . cargo in tow. And if they ever tried to kidnap anyone from the village, they wouldn't get far, I can tell you. But we do see them on the roads out aways, especially the east-west mainway on the south side of the mountains. And less often on the north-south road that runs along the river south of here. You know they're on those roads to get to the seaports."

"The ports?"

"I guess—I don't know, but I've heard—there's a big business for slavers on the other side," Obrecht explained, blowing the foam head off his brew.

"I've only been on the other side a few times while on patrol," Ikkaku said. "Never stayed long. I guess I never even paid attention."

"I don't know much about it, really," Obrecht shrugged. "Just what I've heard. Despicable, by all accounts." He changed the subject. "So, where is Yumichika now?"

"Oh, I left him at Rudi's,"Ikkaku replied. "He was getting to fabrics and all that crap. You know I have no patience for that stuff."

Obrecht huffed a chuckle. "I can't blame you." A pause. "But he's doing okay?"

"I think he's glad it's warming up, and he can be outside more often," Ikkaku said. "I know he likes coming to the village."

"So, I guess when he lost his zanpakuto, he had to leave the Gotei 13, is that it?" Obrecht asked.

"That's part of it. He was so weak he couldn't go on being a Shinigami. And I don't think he'll ever be one again," Ikkaku replied. "And if he couldn't be there, then I wasn't going to be there either." He downed half the glass in one prolonged chug. "Besides, I've made a lot of mistakes over the years where he's concerned. Now, it's my turn to do the right thing and make up for all my . . . stupidity."

"Just let us know if we can help," Obrecht offered.

"I will." Ikkaku finished the rest of the ale, clanked the glass against the table top, and got to his feet. "I'd better head over to the distiller. That's the only task I had, and if I blow it, I'll never hear the end of it."

"He keeps you on your toes, doesn't he?" Obrecht grinned, getting up to see him to the door.

"He always has," Ikkaku sniggered. "Thanks for the drink."

* * *

"So, what are you doing here, handsome?"

Juushiro smiled at the sound of Shunsui's voice, the familiarity of his address.

"Who told you I was here?" he asked, looking up askance in the blue light of the library index screens.

"No one told me," Shunsui replied, leaning against the console. "You know no one needs to tell me where you are. I can always find you." He craned his neck to look at the screen. "Atmens, huh? Why am I not surprised?"

"Considering the task that's been entrusted to us, I decided I should learn more about them," Juushiro replied. "There's quite a number of documents, but a lot of them just repeat what's been written in other accounts."

"Have you found anything interesting?"

"A few things. Here, look at this."

Shunsui pulled up a chair.

"The first Atmen ever recorded was long before even Captain Yamamoto came to the Soul Society. This record is almost 3,000 years old. They weren't even called Atmen back then. It was only later generations of historians that looked back at these old writings and determined that this being had been what we now call an Atmen," Juushiro pointed out.

"What did it have the power to create?" Shunsui asked.

"Well, it's not really clear from the writings, but it looks like . . . it created beings that were purely spirit. No body to speak of," Juushiro related.

"Like souls?"

"No, not like souls. We can see souls in here Soul Society. These weren't visible."

"Then how did they know they existed?" Shunsui was doubtful.

"Here it details all sorts of ways in which they made their presence known. This account says they changed the course of a flooding river to prevent it from wiping out an entire town—"

"That's impossible."

"There's more. This one talks about a man who fell from the top of a spire he was working on, and just before he hit the ground, he said something caught him and cushioned his fall. He was uninjured. This one is about a woman whose ship capsized in a storm. She was floating on a piece of wreckage for two weeks. She said that she tried several times to let go of the board and just sink to the bottom, but one of these invisible beings snatched her back every time. It even says that there have been times when these beings had taken on human appearance and shown themselves to someone they were helping."

"That's all a little too incredible to believe, don't you think?" Shunsui hung back. "I mean, those are just stories that someone else wrote down a long time ago. We don't really know if they're accurate. Or if they're true at all."

Juushiro knit his brows. "Kyoraku, how can you be so skeptical? To the people in the living world, the actions of Shinigami in their world would seem just like the actions of these beings in Soul Society. A mystery."

"Okay, I'll give you that," Shunsui conceded. "So, let's assume these beings were created by the Atmen. What happened to that Atmen?"

"The record doesn't say."

"Well, it must have been destroyed, or we'd still have these beings around us today. The Atmen would be creating even more of them." He leaned closer to get a better look at the document on the screen. "Who owned this _first_ Atmen?"

"You know Soul Society was much different in those days. Central 46 didn't exist. The Gotei 13 didn't exist. The Seireitei existed but not as the place it is today. Soul Reapers formed into bands to protect whatever land they lived in. They were like the knights of generations past in the living world. The account of the first Atmen appears to have come from a southern kingdom. It just says, 'a man came from the east, and he went by the name Ki.' It then goes on to talk about his zanpakuto, which had the power to drain the life from its enemies. Then down here it says how this man, Ki, told people that his zanpakuto had the ability to create 'helpers', and that these 'helpers' were invisible to everyone unless they wanted to make themselves seen, and that they were there to help and protect the people."

"So, what happened to Ki?"

"It says he died in an avalanche," Juushiro related. "Neither he nor his zanpakuto were ever found. But many accounts of these invisible beings were made after his death, which would seem to indicate that his death and the destruction of his zanpakuto did not destroy the Atmen that resided in the zanpakuto—"

"Which is the teaching as we understand it today, that Atmen can outlive their masters and their zanpakuto form."

Juushiro nodded. "Correct."

"But then how was Ki's Atmen finally destroyed?" Kyoraku reached out and scrolled through the text. "Doesn't it say anything? Is there any—holy . . . " He fell abruptly silent as he straightened up.

He had scrolled down to an ancient drawing of the first Atmen. It was badly faded and partly disintegrated to the point where they could not tell if it was in black and white or if it had been done in color and succumbed to the ravages of time. Either way, it did not matter. The image was of a human figure, male or female could not be discerned, robed in long, flowing garments that stretched away from its body like great rivers or like banners in a breeze. The face, only a fragmentary shadow of greying lines on a parchment, was what held the two captains in stunned silence for several seconds. Or rather, not the face, but the eyes.

At last, Kyoraku said, "Enlarge that."

Juushiro did so. "Those eyes . . . " the squad thirteen captain breathed.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku." Kyoraku's statement was definitive.

"How is that possible?" Juushiro wondered out loud, then his pulse quickened even more as a thought entered his head. "Let's see if there are images of more Atmen. I think there are only a couple dozen reports of them."

As it turned out, there were, in fact, reports of forty-two distinct Atmens, the majority of sightings being clustered in the first thousand years after Ki's Atmen. Then the number of accounts fell off precipitously.

There were images of almost every single one.

And the one feature they all had in common was the eyes.

Later images, some of them actual photographic or digital shots, clearly showed the eyes were a deep wisteria and unmistakably the same eyes that the two captains had seen in the mourning shrine seven months ago.

"You know what this means," Kyoraku stated.

"That's it's only been one Atmen all along," Juushiro replied. "But how? And how did we not see that it's always been the same being?"

"Because it isn't the same being."

Both men startled and turned at the sound of Captain Kurotsuchi's voice.

"How long have you been here?" Juushiro demanded angrily.

"Long enough to see that you two barely share a single brain between you," he snickered, coming forward, his face pallid in the blue light. "You think because the Atmen all have the same eyes that they were only one being? How naïve." He wedged himself between the two, drew out a microchip from within his robe and slid it into the computer. "The Atmen all have similar characteristics because they all come from the same source."

"What source is that?"

"You won't find that answer here in the library files," Mayuri scoffed. "You find it . . . here." He opened a file on the screen. "Have you ever heard the story of how Soul Society came into being? Of how the Soul King came into power?"

"Of course, but—"

"Even the Soul King has his master, I suppose; although none of us knows for sure. But if the stories are true—and they may be nothing more than old wives' tales—the Soul King was given dominion over the spirit world, and by association, the living world. He was given the freedom to manage the two worlds as he saw fit," Kurotsuchi explained. "Now, we know from observation that he's taken virtually no interest in the living world – just look at the chaos there. But when he first created Soul Society and set up the whole system of soul balancing between here and living world, he was allowed to carry out his decisions in whatever way he pleased. Of course, he wasn't alone at the time. Whatever being created the Soul King also sent its own emissaries—assistants, as it were—and they were to serve the Soul King in his creative work. And since creating life was a burdensome task, the Soul King put those servants to work right away. He shared his power of creation with them. These were the Atmen." He scrolled down to a highly stylized artistic rendering of several dozen beings gathered against a nondescript, unspecific background. The only other item in the drawing was a sort of crest or seal in the foreground around which they stood in a half-circle. "There were seventy-seven of them, and they were absolutely obedient to the Soul King." He continued scrolling down, bringing up individual, more detailed drawings of each being. Some were the drawings Ukitake and Kyoraku had seen in their own research. "They were almost like his children, so to speak. Well, when the Soul King had reached what he considered the proper balance of souls between here and the living world, he decided that he no longer needed so much life-generating power. But he did not want to send the servants back, in case he might ever have need of them, so he worked with his master swordsmith and put them into swords. They were the first zanpakuto."

Seeing that his listeners were rapt with attention, he went on self-importantly. "But these zanpakuto were not like the ones that came after them. These zanpakuto _chose_ their masters."

"What?" Juushiro asked incredulously. "How is that possible? Zanpakuto spirits are either generated by their Shinigami or imbued into the metal of the sword, to be drawn out later by whatever Shinigami they end up with."

"True, true. But not these zanpakuto. These zanpakuto were permitted by the Soul King to pick their masters, and they would be bound to that master forever. They retained their ability to create, and they passed on their own particular . . . flavor of reiatsu," Kurotsuchi continued. "After all, each of them was a very different being but with some features in common. Physically, the eyes, as you've seen. But they also shared a certain haughtiness that eventually turned some of them quite wicked. But even more so, if one attached himself to a soul that degenerated through its reincarnations, then so he, too, would degenerate.

"We all know that when a soul dies here, it goes to one of three places: if it's perfected, it goes to the King's Realm. If it's still in need of perfecting, it is reincarnated back into the living world. If it is irredeemable, it goes to hell. You see, when an Atmen's master dies and is reincarnated, it does not return with its master to the living world. It remains here in Soul Society. It is incapable of taking on a material body, so it has no business in the living world. It remains here in a sort of dormant stage, waiting for its master to return. But those periods of separation take their toll; an Atmen starta to lose familiarity with its master, so that when they were reunited, very often it was as if they were meeting for the very first time. An Atmen always knows when its master has returned to Soul Society, reincarnated. But it may take years for it to find him and re-establish the relationship."

"What happens to the Atmens whose masters go to hell or to the King's Realm?" Kyoraku asked.

Kurotsuchi leaned close with a shrewd glint in his eye. "Now, that's an interesting question. You see, we here in Soul Society never know where a soul goes when it leaves here. Did it go back to the living world as a new incarnation? Did it go to the King's Realm? Or did it go to Hell? We know that when a soul goes back to the living world, the Atmen is dormant. And we only know this, not from any scientific proof, but because of what some Atmens have told us in the past. Its truth, therefore, is not verifiable; but we will proceed as if this is the truth. What then, would cause an Atmen to remain active after the death of its master?"

"If the master went to the King's Realm, I would think the Atmen would go with it. If the master went to hell, the Atmen would probably resist," Juushiro put forth. "Maybe it would stay here, active."

"And eventually go on a rampage," Shunsui added.

"If it had reason to be angry," Juushiro caveated. "Not all of them went on rampages. Some were driven to it—"

"Central 46 fears the creative power of an Atmen without a master," Mayuri stated. "You see, as people began to realize what kind of power they were dealing with in the Atmen, they would try to ensnare that power for themselves. Sometimes they would try to manipulate the master. Sometimes, they would even kill the master, planning to take the sword for themselves, but the blade would vanish just like any other zanpakuto whose master has died. Still, always the threat was there that someone would figure out how to harness the power of an Atmen during those dormant periods, when it had no Shinigami to control it.

"Central 46 recognized that an Atmen in the wrong hands would be a dangerous weapon. But even more, they realized that if the Atmen itself were wicked, as quite a number of them turned out to be, there was nothing to do but destroy it if its master perished. There was too much risk in waiting for its master to return, since in fact, the master might never return if he'd gone to hell. And so they devised all sorts of schemes to track the Atmen and get them to expend all of their energy, usually by attacking it or its creatures. And once it used up all its power, it would disappear, like dust on the wind."

"Destroyed?"

"Presumably."

"So, how many Atmens are still left in Soul Society?" Shunsui asked.

"Oh, it's impossible to tell. It could be that some Atmens go through life with their Shinigami and never come to the realization of what they are," Mayuri replied.

"Does the human soul know its Atmen when they reunite?" This came from Juushiro.

"Again, who can say? But at least in Ayasegawa's case, he seemed not to know." A pause. "If he had known that Ruri'iro Kujaku was his Atmen, if he'd remember their union from previous incarnations, he would have mastered his abilities much quicker and been a great deal more powerful than what we saw."

Kyoraku eyed him in the flickering light of the screen. "How do you know all this?"

"Oh, it's not that I know it – or believe it, actually. Like I said, half of it is the stuff of story time. The rest are wild guesses based on feeble observations and a paltry written record."

"So, everything you just told us is conjecture," Shunsui grumbled.

"Educated conjecture."

"Let me ask you, then: do you think Ruri'iro Kujaku is still alive," Kyoraku stated.

"In some form or other," came the reply. He rubbed his hands together. "At least, I hope he is. I am dying to know what his creative ability is. I hope you're keeping a good eye on Ayasegawa."

"Don't get any ideas, Captain Kurotsuchi," Shunsui said with a sweet, threatening smile. "If I find out you've gone anywhere near him, I'll make sure you turn into soup."

"Ho-hoo! Strong words!" Mayuri crowed. "No worries. I won't go anywhere near him. Unless the Atmen returns, he's of little interest to me. Oh, it galls me to no end that I never suspected him of being the master of an Atmen! Then I would have insisted Zaraki give me access to him—"

"I think that's enough," Kyoraku cut him off, seeing that Juushiro's jaw was working. Any moment and the temperate captain of Squad Thirteen would lose his cool. "Thank you for your insights. We'll take it from here."

Kurotsuchi shrugged and laughed – a sound like water dripping in a cave. "Suit yourselves."

After Mayuri had left, Juushiro threw his head back and moaned loudly. "I can't stand him!"

Shunsui squeezed his shoulder. "You really need to learn how to just shrug him off. Besides, he gave us some good information."

"I suppose." He turned to regard Shunsui intently. "Where did he get all that information? Do you think he's right? Do you think Ruri'iro Kujaku is still alive?"

"I don't know, but I think it's possible," Shunsui replied.

Juushiro sighed. After a few seconds, he asked, "Should we tell the head captain what we've found?"

Shunsui clapped him on the shoulder. "You're adorably naïve sometimes, Juushiro. Do you really think the old man doesn't already know everything we were just talking about? And probably more?"

Juushiro gave a grin of concession. "I'm sure you're right. So, what do we do with this information?"

Shunsui stood up. "Let's have a drink and think about it."

"I don't see how that can help."

"It can't hurt."

* * *

By the middle of October, the weather on the mountain had turned cold. It was the kind of clear chill that made the pines twinkle in the sharp sunlight, that carried the tinkling of the stream up through the forest so that it sounded as if it were right outside the cottage window. And at night, it brought on a stillness that even the sounds of night creatures could not disturb.

Autumn had always been Yumichika's favorite season on the mountain, and this first Autumn after his return was no exception. The crispness in the air was invigorating to him; and whereas most people saw the fall with a sort of dread as the prelude to winter, Yumichika, since he did not fear the hardships of winter, sailed through the autumnal sweep with the full enjoyment of a child who has yet to comprehend that the end of summer marks the beginning of school.

Ikkaku had not gone to work at the mill yet. He had determined that he would wait until after the winter. Then, he felt quite certain, Yumichika would be able to spend the day alone at the cottage. Yumichika's progress was still remarkably slow, and with every passing day, it occurred to Ikkaku just how much spirit energy it took to keep Yumichika functioning at even the most basic level. But there could be no rushing the process, and truth be told, Ikkaku was of no mind to speed things along. As far as he was concerned, the situation was quite comfortable.

One sundrenched afternoon shortly after mid-October, they headed up into the higher reaches of the mountain, above the treeline and into the broad, v-shaped moraine of the northern escarpment. Here, in the barren dips and rock-strewn banks could be found the tiny blooms of the pink-flowering katzenzunge—or cat's tongue. It was useful as both a healing balm made from the flowers and greenstuff; and, when ingested, as an antibiotic brewed from the roots. And brewed in a particular way, it made for a potent and savory schnapps. Yumichika had always kept a stock on hand when they'd lived here before. Now, it was time to rebuild that stock – or at least bring enough down to see them through the winter.

They hiked the distance – a nearly three-hour trek. Flash step had become a thing of the past. Neither of them had even once felt the inclination to use it since returning to the meadow. Leaving early in the morning, they arrived just as the sun was reaching its apex, glancing up from its more southerly position and casting short shadows to the north.

Almost immediately upon reaching the upper edge of the moraine, Ikkaku shed the overshirt he'd been wearing.

"That sun is beating down like a laser beam," he said. "It's damned hot up here!"

He was right. The sun, not as filtered through the thinness of the air, shone with greater intensity. It was magnified as it bounced off the thousands of smooth and jagged rocky surfaces. Coupled with the heat generated from the hike, and no wind to cool the layer of sweat upon their bodies, it definitely was warmer at this higher elevation than it had been down in the meadow.

They spent an hour digging out roots of the katzenzunge. A hearty, fall bloomer, there were thousands of plants all across the moraine. A couple dozen plants would do quite nicely and never even be missed.

"How many do you have, Ikkaku?" Yumichika asked. And even though he'd hardly raised his voice, Ikkaku being less than thirty yards away, his words echoed off the sheer walls that bounded the sloping valley on either side. It made him smile, for it was a sound he loved – nature's perfect, reverberating playback of his own voice. There were no gadgets here. No electronics. The words that had gone forth from his mouth only a moment ago now came back to him.

"I think about eight," Ikkaku replied.

"I have five," Yumichika said. "That should be enough. I think we can head down."

"I could use some lunch first," Ikkaku announced, picking his way across the uneven ground.

Yumichika nodded. "Even I'm feeling pretty hungry right now."

Ikkaku smiled. That appetite was another sign Yumichika was regaining his reiatsu. "I left the pack just over there," he said, motioning uphill where, about fifty yards away, the pack could be clearly seen sitting on top of a large, flat boulder.

They climbed up to the place and Ikkaku spread the meal out over the boulder's surface.

He had to hand it to Yumichika. The man knew how to pack a good meal. Dried fish, sticky rice with currants, two small jars of the cone soup that Ikkaku so relished, a loaf of apricot bread with a spread of pickled beets. He had also thrown in desert in the form of marzipan balls. There was even a jar of sake.

Ikkaku ate as if it were his last meal, and when Yumichika had finished his own bird-like portions, he handed over the rest to Ikkaku, who finished it off without pause.

"Man, you know how to cook, Yumichika," Ikkaku said, stretching back to lie on the rock with his hands behind his head. "I can't think when I've enjoyed a meal so much."

"Food always tastes better when you're hungry and after some exertion," Yumichika replied. "But you're still right: I am a good cook. I've always been a good cook."

"You know what I'm good at?" Ikkaku asked.

"What?"

"Taking a nap," came the cheeky reply.

"Go ahead," Yumichika agreed. "Why not? We don't have to head down for another two hours, at least. It's only noon. We've got plenty of daylight. I think I'll join you." He lay back and rested his head on Ikkaku's arm. "That sun feels good now."

"Yep."

Ikkaku flittered down into sleep. Once there, he felt the heaviness descend over his limbs, and complete peace settled upon him. He dreamed that the stream in the woods behind the cottage was flowing with cone soup. He saw Yumichika ladling some into a large pot.

"_Don't bring it back to the cottage,"_ Ikkaku said. _"Eat it down here. Don't go back to the cottage."_

"_But it tastes better inside."_

"_Hoozukimaru, go with him."_ But when his hand bent up to his waist, Hoozukimaru was not there. He looked down, but still the zanpakuto was not to be seen. He dropped to his hands and knees and searched the ground as if looking for a pin fallen among the undergrowth.

He heard Yumichika's voice again, and looking up, saw him standing there in front of him.

"_It won't do any good to look here," _he said. _"He's with me."_

"_What do you mean?" _Ikkaku asked, standing up.

Yumichika nuzzled close. _"How much do you love me?"_

Ikkaku did not answer. The movement of Yumichika pressing against him jarred him loose of the moment. He was awake and still lying on the rock in the sunshine. But he could tell immediately that Yumichika was no longer against his shoulder. The initial moment of worry disappeared the moment he opened his eyes and saw Yumichika lying beside him, propped up on his elbow and staring down at him.

Ikkaku returned his stare for nearly ten seconds, then with a chuckle, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Looking at you," Yumichika replied.

"Why?"

"I just feel like it. It makes me happy."

Now Ikkaku burst out in a bark of hilarity. "That makes you easy to please!"

"Maybe," Yumichika grinned. "You know, I remember when we met . . . I liked looking at you back then, too."

"Hmph! I can think of a few times when you weren't so happy to see me," Ikkaku jibed.

"Well, you did make it difficult sometimes," Yumichika replied. "But . . . you were usually right."

"You say that now, but boy, did you fight me back then." Ikkaku laughed quietly at a recalled memory. "I'll never forget how pissed off you were when I dragged you out of Imakao's."

"You didn't drag me out," Yumichika corrected. "I left of my own accord. But you're right, I was furious at you. Isn't it amazing? That was almost a hundred and thirty years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday." A pause. "Do you remember you caught me up in the rain and forced me to wait there on the ground until the storm was over?"

"I remember you gave me the slip while I was sleeping."

Yumichika was silent for a moment, then a pink hue rose up his cheeks. "Who'd have ever thought we'd be here together so many years later?"

"We've certainly had more than our share of trials and tragedies," Ikkaku agreed. "But you know what? I think the best is yet to come."


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Reader, This is a long chapter. Lots of scene-setting. But I think you'll get a good surprise at the end! At least, I hope so. Peace, TK

Chapter 3 Vengeance

"_Is that the wind on your face?  
__Are you sure you're alone?  
__In the middle of the night, is that your heart you hear?  
__Or the wind that's calling back across the years?"_

_Breaking Point  
__Justin Hayward and John Lodge_

* * *

In the living world, thirty-three years is a long time.

In Soul Society, it is equally long. Only when taken in comparison with eternity, it does not appear even as a blip.

And thirty-three years on the mountain seemed little more than a languid inhalation, a continuous movement upward towards a peak that was not in sight and the distance to which was unknown. After how low the situation had sunk during the battle with the demons, Ikkaku's rejection of Yumichika, and his subsequent realization of how wrong he'd been; after the final battle and Yumichika's death, after his unexpected resurrection at Ruri'iro Kujaku's hands (an occurrence of which Yumichika was still unaware), it had appeared the bottom had been struck, the breath knocked from the life of their relationship. Ruri'iro Kujaku's demise had been the capstone that marked the final gasp of a topsy-turvy era , one that ended on a low note only to be snatched away from complete loss at the last instant.

Ruri'iro Kujaku had saved his master from death, and it had been Ikkaku's task, for the past thirty-three years, to save him from despair.

And he'd done a good job of it, if he had to say so himself.

There had been moments—quite a few of them, and mostly early on—when Yumichika's distress over Ruri'iro Kujaku's absence had spiraled into fear and even panic, which would quickly give way to sadness and depression. And then he would find within himself, some ray of hope, some tiny speck of remote possibility to grasp onto, and that would carry him forward until the next spell hit.

But as the years passed with no sign that Ruri'iro Kujaku would ever return and Yumichika not having access to or knowing if his inner world even existed anymore, the hope began to fade, and with it the fear. They were replaced with a resigned melancholy which Yumichika kept well at bay. He hated that Ikkaku should worry about him, and so he was careful to show a cheerful face. Yet, he could not ignore the feeling of emptiness where Ruri'iro Kujaku had once resided. He had never realized how much a part of him the Azure Peacock had been.

For his own part, Ikkaku understood what Yumichika was suffering—despite Yumichika's attempts to disguise his feelings—but he could not fathom the depths of his friend's loss. In fact, he would not even consider trying to draw out those things which weighed so heavily on Yumichika's heart. Rather, he put his energies into keeping Yumichika's spirits up, and at this he excelled. He knew how to pull Yumichika out of his own head, away from despairing thoughts. He was able to redirect him towards constructive activity and provide enough distraction to keep him on the fair side of contentment.

Ikkaku had gone back to work at the mill mid-summer after their arrival. He'd planned to start in the spring, but that had hinged on the return of Yumichika's strength – or at least, if not his strength, his stamina. By the middle of July, Ikkaku had decided—after much convincing—that Yumichika could safely be left alone in the cottage for the day. His reiatsu had grown a bit stronger but was still not palpable, not even to Ikkaku. His physical abilities had improved to the point where he could work two or three hours at a time without needing a rest.

Now, thirty-three summers later, Yumichika's physical strength had returned to much the same as it had ever been. His reiatsu had replenished itself, but as predicted, only to the extent necessary to sustain him. And it was utterly devoid of seduction.

But, as Ikkaku had observed thirty-three years ago upon their return to the meadow, Yumichika had no need of a seductive reiatsu in order to turn heads and win praise. He was as beautiful now as at any time before, perhaps even more so, now that he was seen through eyes uncluttered by a manipulative spirit energy. In a peculiar way, he had retained the gentlest aspects of his nature while at the same time reviving the narcissistic character that had been on full display when Ikkaku had first met him. He was the perfect combination of opposite qualities, and Ikkaku found himself loving him more with each passing day.

Yumichika had not had a moment's doubt of that love since Ikkaku had professed it in the chilly darkness of that early morning beside the wood pile. He'd known at that instant that Ikkaku had meant what he'd said, and Ikkaku had given him no reason to doubt his conviction in the intervening years. Ikkaku had not said it again since then, but Yumichika did not need to hear it. He saw it and felt it in Ikkaku's actions. He only wondered if he were doing a good job at returning that love.

On this hot day in mid-summer, he was pondering that very question as he headed down to the stream to do some laundry. Even though it was still morning, the day was already showing signs of being a burner. The insects had headed down into the grass in the meadow, and the only sounds to be heard in the forest, other than the tinkling of the stream, were the occasional drummings of a woodpecker and the lilting calls of a pair of wood doves.

Yumichika followed the well-worn path along the bank down to the terrace pool just below the cascades. Here, no matter how stifling the day was, a comfortable coolness shut out the worst of the heat. To this day, it had remained one of Yumichika's favorite spots.

He made quick work of the laundry and set it to dry on the sunlit rocks lying back aways from the pool's edge. He cast off his clothing and slid down into the water, diving below the surface and coming up on the opposite side of the pool. He floated on his back for a while, tread water, then swam along the edges. Feeling refreshed, he decided some sun would be nice, and the first thing that came to his mind was the water meadow. It was about a hundred yards below the pool, through a thin line of pine trees. Yumichika would not even have to get out of the water to get there. The rocks were worn smooth around shallows chutes through which Yumichika could simply slide his way down.

The water meadow was a broad, flat treeless expanse, roughly a hundred yards across and a hundred yards long. Here, the stream ran a brilliant green spread out over a bed of yellow and gray pebbles, and in some places, it stretched away as tiny rivulets between spongy tufts of bog and the coarse shoots of reed-like grass. It had been a catchwork water meadow, long since abandoned, and the fields that had once been cleared below it had been taken back by the forest even before Yumichika and Ikkaku had lived here the first time. This one meadow was all that remained, and it was the ideal spot for sunbathing in the water, for in many places, the stream ran less than eight inches deep.

Coming to the bottom of the last chute, Yumichika got to his feet and walked easily over the pebbly riverbed. He picked out a place almost halfway down the meadow and lay on his back in the middle of the shallow water, resting his head on a wide flat rock just below the water's surface. The stream ran around him, and opening his eyes, he saw a sky so blue that the air appeared thin and shimmering. A few clouds were passing overhead to the north. They appeared like silent observers, who, losing interest, simply kept on their way.

He watched them for some time before closing his eyes and simply listening to the woodland sounds around him. Perhaps an hour had passed—maybe a little less—when he heard a sound that he had not heard in over a hundred years, and it made him sit up immediately.

It was the voice of a bird, one that summered in the area but was rarely heard and even less frequently seen.

But Yumichika knew the voice. He knew it for the memory it brought with it.

He stood up and began traipsing upstream to where the stream came out of the wood, and here he picked up the dirt trail that ran alongside the western bank. He followed it back towards the pool, all the while searching the treetops for sight of the singer and recalling the moment when he had first discovered the nature of his shikai . . . and the splendor that was Ruri'iro Kujaku's unveiled spirit.

He knew precisely the spot where the encounter had taken place, and as he came upon it now, he stopped and stared at the ground. This was where he had ensnared his mercurial zanpakuto, using the vines in a controlled manner for the first time. He recalled how Ruri'iro Kujaku had gone off on one of his addlepated fancies, enraptured by the sound of a bird calling out in the woods, and leaving him behind to contend alone with his youthful desires. The use of the vines to corral the peacock had only been the beginning.

Ruri'iro Kujaku had shown him how to release his shikai, and that first experience had robbed him of all sensibility. It had been the most exquisite feeling Yumichika had ever known up to that point. But it was what had followed that Yumichika held foremost in his memories.

His first clear, unobstructed view of the Azure Peacock. There had been many revelations of that beauty since then, and Yumichika had come to take it for granted; but he would always look back on that moment as the instant when he first comprehended perfection. He had lain right here in this spot, looking up into the benevolent violet eyes, feeling the glass-like smoothness of flawless skin, and desiring that being with every fiber of his existence.

The first kiss . . .

Now, only emptiness.

He dropped down cross-legged, held his head in his hands, and began to sob. His cries were not the thin, airy things of an aggrieved soul; they were the deep, wrenching wails of a soul rent apart, for that was what he was. And he could not hide it – not here in this place, not at the very spot where Ruri'iro Kujaku had loved him with the restraint that only true devotion can command.

The truth came flooding back, overwhelming him and carrying him along in a torrent of misery.

He had lost a part of his very soul, truly the staunchest companion he'd ever had—even more so than Ikkaku. There was a void inside him, a loneliness that could not be eased; and for the first time ever, Yumichika had some small inkling what it must feel like to be a Hollow, to feel your own heart being slowly chipped away. For thirty-three years, he had dealt with the loss by holding onto—insisting upon—an idea that Ruri'iro Kujaku must not be dead, that he was only too weak to make his presence known.

But now . . . how could he continue to believe such things? He'd felt nothing of him since leaving the Seireitei. He'd not heard his voice. His inner world no longer existed. Try as he might, Yumichika had not been able to will him back into existence. And the sharpest pain of all was Yumichika's admission that he'd treated his zanpakuto terribly for most of their time together. He'd lived quietly with that guilt ever since the day Ikkaku had told him how Ruri'iro Kujaku had given his own life to save his; but that could not be pinpointed as the start of Yumichika's embroiled conscience. The truth was that the moment Ruri'iro Kujaku had come to life to defeat the demons, there in the streets of Mito, Yumichika had known that the peacock—unlike him, unlike Ikkaku, unlike anyone else he knew—did not hold grudges, did not allow bruised feelings to stand in the way. Despite the fact that only minutes earlier, his master had been ready to cast him off into the sea, he had responded immediately to Yumichika's command and come to his defense.

That sense of courage and self-sacrifice—Yumichika had once possessed them—but they were gone now. Just like his reiatsu and all the sultry, seductive fascination that had come with it. It really did appear, in retrospect, as if Yumichika had been a creation of his zanpakuto, rather than the other way around.

He sat on the path for several minutes, wallowing in his anguish. This was something he had not allowed himself to feel for thirty-three years, and it came pouring out of him now like a broken spigot.

And then he stopped on the instant.

An unaccountable feeling of discomfort suddenly descended upon him.

Someone was watching him. He was certain of it.

He became acutely aware of his nakedness as he got slowly to his feet and looked about him. The forest was still. The lone bird had stopped singing. The tripping sound of the cascades came bouncing through the trees. But there was no movement in the heat of what was now midday. There was nothing to indicate that someone or something was nearby.

Still, he could not shake the feeling that he was not alone.

He began walking quickly up the path towards the pool and the laundry he had left out to dry. Everything was just as he had left it. Nothing had been disturbed. He picked up his wash smock from where he'd dropped it on the ground, got dressed, and began gathering up the clothing—most of it now fully dry—and stuffing it into the wicker basket. He continued to scan his surroundings and tried to appear unafraid while hurrying at the same time.

But he was afraid. The fighting skills he had learned as a Shinigami had deteriorated to the point where his natural physical ability set the limitations. And since he was slightly built without the benefit of great strength, he felt his vulnerability keenly. Bereft of his reiatsu, he had nothing to bolster his endurance or his strength. And his most powerful weapon—seduction—was no longer at his disposal.

His own defenseless had never occurred to him until now. He'd had no reason to consider it, for life on the mountain had been completely and utterly serene. But as he scurried back towards the cottage, he could not stop checking over his shoulder, fully expecting each time to come face-to-face with a pursuer.

Yet, no such encounter took place, and as he came around the side of the cottage, heading for the door, he checked one more time to make sure no one was following him. There was not a soul to be seen. He turned to open the door, and the laundry basket went flying from his hands. Leaping back he reached instinctively—even after so many years—for a sword that was no longer at his waist.

"Woah! Woah! No need to go throwing the laundry away!"

Yumichika let out a long breath of relief. "Ikkaku . . . " He leaned against the outer wall of the cottage as Ikkaku came outside.

"What's going on ? You're a little jumpy there, aren't you?" Ikkaku asked lightly, but once he was outside in the sun, he could see the blotchy patches on Yumichika's face and the distinctive breathing of effort. "Yumichika, what's happened? Are you alright?"

"Was that you the whole time?" Yumichika replied with a question of his own.

"The whole time? What do you mean?"

"Was that you down by the stream? Did you go down to the stream?" Yumichika asked.

"Well, yeah, but I didn't see you, so I came back up. I saw the clothes out to dry and I figured you were off doing something else, so I came back up and made myself something to eat. I was just getting ready to go out and see if I could find you," Ikkaku replied.

Yumichika looked at him quizzically. "How long ago were you down at the stream?"

"I don't know, an hour. Maybe an hour and a half."

When Yumichika did not speak right away, Ikkaku did not hesitate. "What's wrong, Yumichika? Did you see someone down at the stream? And why do you look like that? You look like you've been crying." The fear rose in Ikkaku's mind. "Did something happen? Did someone do something to you?"

"No, no," Yumichika said, consternation showing in his furrowed brow. "I didn't see anyone, and nothing happened to me."

"Then why did you ask if it was me the whole time? What does that mean?"

Now, Yumichika had to make a decision. Did he tell Ikkaku the truth and risk upsetting him? Surely, if Ikkaku suspected Yumichika were in any kind of danger, he would insist on greater security, which usually boiled down to his continual presence. That was not something Yumichika wanted. He wanted Ikkaku to continue his job at the mill. He wanted him to feel he could stop at Obrecht's Inn for a couple drinks after work instead of hurrying home.

And the truth was that Yumichika had not _seen_ anyone watching him. He'd only felt that someone else had been there. Still, he and Ikkaku had made a pledge that they would keep no more secrets, and so he decided to tell him the truth in a way that hopefully would not make him fly into protection mode.

"I felt as if someone might be watching me," he replied. "But there was no one there." He went on before Ikkaku could speak. "You know, I used to be very good at sensing when someone else was around, but now I can't even tell when _you're_ nearby. I guess I was imagining things."

Ikkaku was not convinced by this explanation, and Yumichika knew it.

"But then why do you look like that?" Ikkaku asked.

On this, Yumichika did not need to be delicate.

"Because I was thinking about Ruri'iro Kujaku," he said in a quiet voice. He moved over to where the basket had landed and began re-gathering the scattered clothes. "I miss him. I miss him terribly."

Ikkaku helped pick up the items. "I know you do. I know you've tried to hide it—even from yourself; but it was always there."

Yumichika straightened up with the basket, which Ikkaku took from him.

"You know, there are times when I think I would do anything to have him back," Yumichika frowned. "But now I . . . I think he's . . . he's not coming back. And there's nothing I can do to change that." He leaned back against the stone water trough. "Today while I was down at the stream, I had a—a flashback to the first time he showed me his shikai. That was one of the most wonderful moments of my life, and I guess it hit me pretty hard today when I realized . . . when I realized that he's gone." After a second, he spoke with warmth. "And I wasted all those years because I didn't—I didn't appreciate him. He—he used to try to get me to say that I loved him, but I never did. I refused to say it, because I knew it was what he wanted. I was such an idiot."

"You were in good company. I was pretty idiotic myself," Ikkaku noted. "It seems like the only two who had any sense were Ruri'iro Kujaku and Hoozukimaru."

A wan half-smile tugged at the corner of Yumichika's mouth. From time to time over the years, Hoozukimaru had manifested into the outside world – sometimes at Ikkaku's demand and other times of his own desire.

And Yumichika loved him immensely. In seeing and speaking with Hoozukimaru, he felt that he was somehow one tiny schrit closer to Ruri'iro Kujaku. He could always find consolation in the dragon's steadfast calm and in his candid demeanor. He could easily and happily listen for days to Hoozukimaru's stories about Ruri'iro Kujaku.

In short, Hoozukimaru made him feel connected in a way that nothing else did.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Those two had the kind of bond that . . . that . . . " His voice trailed off.

"That we should have had," Ikkaku completed the sentence.

Yumichika regarded him plaintively. "No, I wasn't going to say that. I was going to that they had the kind of bond that survives death. I don't think Hoozukimaru will ever stop loving him."

"As it should be," Ikkaku nodded.

Yumichika had never felt so grateful for Ikkaku's stoic simplicity. He'd not wanted another emotional breakdown like the one he'd had on the path; and now, thanks to Ikkaku, he stood a good chance of getting into the house without a replay.

Ikkaku, on the other hand, while he certainly felt for Yumichika's unhappiness, was more concerned with the possibility that someone might have been in the woods spying on him.

"Listen, maybe, uh, maybe you should come down into Venla with me tomorrow," he suggested as they went back inside the cottage.

"And do what all day?" Yumichika asked dubiously.

"I don't know. Go buying," Ikkaku shrugged. "Go visiting. Whatever you want."

"You're just worried now because of what I said," Yumichika said. "And you shouldn't be. I told you it was just a feeling. I didn't see anyone—"

"And you were scared to death when you ran into me—"

"That's because I wasn't expecting anyone to be in the cottage," Yumichika insisted. "By the way, why are you home so early? It's . . . you're home almost three hours earlier than normal."

"It got so hot in the mill house that Yenset told us to knock off early," Ikkaku replied. "It's hot up here, but believe me, Yumichika, in the valley it's sweltering. And you know how the mill house can get."

"Yes," Yumichika nodded. He wrinkled his nose. "I can smell it, too." In true Ayasegawa fashion, he was recovering already from his sadness and the scare. "Why don't you take off that thing and throw it in the basin out back. I'll get a cool bath going for you—"

Ikkaku had other ideas, though. "I think I'd prefer a dip in the stream."

Yumichika was not fooled. "You just want to take a look and make sure no one's down there."

Ikkaku inclined his head. "Then I'll kill two birds with one stone." A pause. "Why don't you come with me?"

"I just came from there," Yumichika simpered. "Besides, I have to put this laundry away."

"Then lock the door behind me," Ikkaku ordered.

Yumichika could have protested, but he decided it would be easier to acquiesce. "Fine, fine." He tossed Ikkaku a towel and a clean kimono. "Now, go before the place starts smelling like a pig sty."

Ikkaku headed for the stream, but he moved slowly, scanning for any sign that someone else was in the vicinity. He saw no broken twigs or bent stems other than those lining the pathway, no impressions on the dry, cracked dirt, hard as a stone under the unrelenting sun. Coming to the pool, he did not go into the water right away but instead went towards the water meadow. Here, he used shunpo for the first time since leaving the Seireitei. It was just easier to cross the open space, one end to the other, using flashstep than it was to trudge through the spongy grass.

And still, he found nothing to rouse his suspicion.

Ikkaku had never been much of a tracker. Yumichika's uncanny ability to sense the spirit energy of other souls had meant that Ikkaku had never needed to develop good tracking skills. Now that Yumichika no longer possessed that ability, Ikkaku wished he had learned more about the art of the search.

Thirty minutes later, he returned to the pool; and while he was not satisfied that all was safe—for it was unlike Yumichika to imagine such a thing as someone watching him—he at least felt that there was no immediate danger. Perhaps it had been an animal. Or a traveler passing through. It might even be Captain Ukitake or Captain Kyoraku.

The two captains had been surreptitiously keeping an eye on the two since their departure. Ikkaku knew this. He'd felt their spirit energy on occasion when they'd been too careless to hide it. Or, Ikkaku imagined it wasn't carelessness at all; but rather, they had been trying to find a way to make their presence known without coming out and blatantly saying, "We've been tasked with spying on you."

The first time he'd sensed their presence, Ikkaku had been offended and put off. How dare they spy on him and Yumichika? What was the purpose? And whose idea had it been? But after a few months of consideration, he realized that there had to be something going on—something crucial enough to warrant surveillance—to which he was not privy. Often, he felt tempted to call out the two captains and ask them why they were watching; but he would always catch himself.

Did he really want to know? Did he want to know what secrets churned below the surface that called for Yumichika to be watched? For he was certain that it was, indeed, Yumichika who was the object of the surveillance. After what Ikkaku had seen with Ruri'iro Kujaku, he had no doubt that Yumichika was now viewed by those in charge as either a threat or a boon who needed to be kept under watchful eye. But if Ruri'iro Kujaku were truly gone, why the need for shadowing?

Ikkaku could have approached Ukitake and Koyraku and demanded an explanation. Yet, he'd held back. Sometimes, he thought it was better not to know the answers. Not only that, but he didn't want anything to interfere with the peaceful, idyllic life he and Yumichika had re-established. If he resumed connections with those he had known in the Gotei 13, he ran the risk igniting a longing for the life he had left behind.

It was hard enough when Matsumoto came to visit, which was fairly often – at least three or four times a year. She always came alone and stayed only briefly. She was the only visitor from the Gotei 13 they had received since coming to the meadow, and her arrival was met with great happiness on Yumichika's part. For Ikkaku, her appearances sparked an excitement that was better left unheeded. When she spoke of the goings-on within the Gotei 13, Ikkaku could feel his heart beat faster and the memories of glorious fighting days came bubbling to the surface.

Even so, he had never regretted his decision to leave. Not once, not even for a fleeting instant. He knew now the things that mattered, and the man waiting for him in the cottage in the meadow topped the list.

And it was that man whom he was anxious to return to, having decided that there was no apparent danger in the immediate vicinity.

He bathed quickly, although the temptation to loll about in the cool mountain water was powerful, for the day was still blistering and torpid. He put on the kimono and went to retrieve Hoozukimaru from where he'd placed him leaning against a tree, only to find the spirit of his zanpakuto standing there beside his sword form.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I don't like it when you manifest without my permission," Ikkaku grumbled.

"I don't do it so often, partner." Hoozukimaru returned grumble for grumble. "It gets harder to do as the years go by, especially since you don't really use me anymore. I'm getting rusty. I can't manifest unless I'm in your presence, unlike before when I could manifest wherever I wanted whenever I wanted. I'm losing my edge."

Ikkaku understood his lament. "Yeah, well . . . there's not much use for a zanpakuto up here. Everything is peaceful and quiet."

"Eh, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," the dragon said, crossing the muscular arms over the broad chest. "It's not like Little Pretty to imagine things."

"I know," Ikkaku replied.

"So, what do you think he sensed?"

"He didn't say he _sensed_ anything. He said he had a feeling. There's a big difference," Ikkaku replied. "When Yumichika used to _sense_ things, he _knew_ they were there. If he felt something, that meant he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about this one." A pause. "Besides, it could have been anything. It could have been Captain Ukitake and Captain Kyoraku."

"Hmmm . . . " Hoozukimaru did not look or sound persuaded. "Maybe you should get him a weapon when you go down into the village tomorrow. He hasn't carried a sword since he lost Ruri'iro Kujaku."

"He doesn't want another sword," Ikkaku said. "You know that. I know you've listened in when I've tried to convince him that he should have a weapon to defend himself, being alone up here all day. He absolutely refuses. Shit, you remember about ten years ago, I brought a sword home just to keep in the cottage in case he needed it? I came home the next day and it was gone! He'd thrown it out and refused to tell me where it was. To this day, I have no idea where he got rid of it."

Hoozukimaru knit his brows in thought. "Okay, then leave me with him tomorrow. Or for the next few days, at least. Just to be on the safe side. I mean, you don't need me. Nothing ever happens down in the village; and even if it did, you could handle it with your bare hands."

Ikkaku thought about this, concluding, "I could do that, but I think it's better if I just stay up here with him for the rest of the week."

Hoozukimaru grunted a doubtful laugh. "You think he's going to let you do that? He hates it when you worry about him."

"Let him hate it," Ikkaku replied. "Something scared him this afternoon, and even though I didn't find anything, I'd feel better if I hung out up here for the rest of the week." He picked up his sword and began walking, Hoozukimaru at his side. "Did you hear what he said about Ruri'iro Kujaku?"

"Yup, I heard," the dragon nodded.

"What do you think?"

Hoozukimaru was thoughtful for several seconds. When he answered, he spoke with a sad certainty. "I think he suffers a lot more than either of us knows."

* * *

"I appreciate you staying up here with me, Ikkaku. Really, I do. I know I got you all worked up and concerned over what I thought I felt in the woods, but you can't take another week off of work," Yumichika insisted, although he sounded more like he was pleading. "You took three days last week, and if you don't go in tomorrow, Yenset may decide he doesn't need you—"

"Don't be stupid," Ikkaku cut in. "If Yenset brought me back onboard after being gone for a hundred years, what difference do you think a few days is going to make? Besides, if my absences have to do with taking care of you, Yenset is all for it."

"But I don't need you to take care of me," Yumichika assured him. "Look, I just let something spook me, that's all. You yourself said that when you went out there, you didn't see anything. And you've gone out every day since then and not found anything. And we just went walking everywhere and found nothing. Tomorrow, you need to go back to work." He spoke the last four words with emphasis.

It was Sunday twilight. Another sizzling day coming to an end. Yumichika had pestered Ikkaku to go outside and make the rounds of the area with him in an attempt to illustrate that it was okay to go back to work, that everything was safe on the mountain. He was not sure if he was succeeding as they came to the end of their walk.

"It's just that . . . you don't usually imagine things, Yumichika," Ikkaku replied. "So, the question is whether or not what you felt was dangerous."

Yumichika appealed to his reason. "You can't stay up here forever, and I can't be down the mill house with you every day. Look, I was upset about Ruri'iro Kujaku when I felt it, so maybe it was just . . . my emotions getting the better of me."

Ikkaku knew he was fighting a losing battle. Yumichika was correct. He could not spend every day up on the mountain; Yumichika would never tolerate such a thing.

"Okay," he conceded at last. "I'll go back to work tomorrow. But I'd feel better knowing you have some way of protecting yourself up here." A pause. "So, I'm going to leave Hoozukimaru up here with you."

"Now, who's being stupid?" Yumichika smirked. "What am I going to do with Hoozukimaru? He belongs to you, and he needs to stay with you."

"In sword form anyone can use him," Ikkaku replied. "Even you."

Yumichika raised his arm and slapped Ikkaku on the back of his head.

Ikkaku turned and was about to react in kind when Yumichika rolled his head to one side, revealing the smooth, muscled curve of his neck . It was an enticing movement, and both men knew it. In the fading light, Yumichika's eyes caught the orange-hued rays creeping between the boughs of the pines on the western side of the meadow. He regarded Ikkaku with an expression that was both challenge and capitulation. Taking a step forward, he stretched out his arms as if to take Ikkaku's face in his hands. At the last moment, he grasped Ikkaku's arm where it met the shoulder, whirled around and flipped Ikkaku over his shoulder. Then he dropped down with his forearm pressed across Ikkaku's throat.

"You see, I am capable of defending myself," he cooed.

"You know I could toss you over right now," Ikkaku warned. "Just like that."

"Oh yeah?" Yumichika craned his head down and kissed him tenderly on the mouth. "Do you want to throw me over?"

Ikkaku grinned up at him. "I told you you didn't need that seductive reiatsu," he said, reaching his hands around Yumichika's back and scrunching up his kimono just enough to have access to the firm buttocks beneath. "You manage just fine without it."

Yumichika wriggled against him.

"You trying to start something?" Ikkaku asked.

"If I can." He sat up, loosed his obi, and shrugged the kimono from his shoulders.

"I see you're in a daring mood today," Ikkaku chuckled. "First you attack me, and now you're just going to put it out there and see if I take it, huh?"

Yumichika straightened up onto his knees and deftly untwisted his fundoshi, tossing it aside. "So, are you going to?" There was a certain swagger in his voice, and it always made Ikkaku optimistic, because it was indication that Yumichika, despite his setbacks and hidden sorrows, was still making progress. He still knew how to laugh and have fun, how to throw a challenge, and take his just come-uppance.

"Hmm . . . I don't know," Ikkaku replied with exaggerated doubt. "It's hot out and . . ."

"Well, let's fix that." Yumichika spread the neck of Ikkaku's kosode, baring him to the waist. Then he went to work. He caressed the taut obliques, taking pleasure in the feel of the warm skin beneath his fingers. As his hands moved down Ikkaku's sides, he continued to part the kosode and within seconds had Ikkaku lying naked beneath him. He moved back up to sit across his waist and leaned over to impart feathery kisses on his shoulders and neck, slowly working his way lower.

Ikkaku lay limp beneath him, indulging the sensations. Over the past thirty-three years, one thing he had discovered about Yumichika: the man knew how to bring him. Of course, given Yumichika's past, this came as no surprise. But it had only been since returning to Venla that the degree of intimacy between the two men had increased to the point where Ikkaku could claim first-hand knowledge of Yumichika's skills.

Even so, there was a stopping point.

It was the way their relationship had been since returning to the meadow. The physical aspect of their friendship was something that neither of them fully understood. They both enjoyed the feeling of their bodies side by side, whether in the relaxation of a peaceful evening, or the pressing heat of erotic desire. They took pleasure in the touching and kissing and teasing that plays such a great part in any intimate relationship. And they both excelled in maintaining a certain detachment from the sexual demands that naturally followed upon such encounters. There was an unspoken line, comfortable and comforting, beyond which they would not go.

The question of why they abstained from the act itself was something of which they never spoke.

For Ikkaku's part, he privately believed that Yumichika still retained a good deal of self-centeredness and naiveté when it came to the actual union of two bodies. Yumichika's eternal youth had given him a body that would be forever receptive and reactive to the heights of ecstasy. And it was that capacity that had blossomed upon his arrival in Soul Society. But Ikkaku was not convinced that, despite Yumichika's vast experience, he had any great apprehension of what the sexual act entailed from any perspective other than the physical.

So, even though Ikkaku had far less experience than Yumichika, and in fact had remained ultimately celibate his entire existence, he honestly believed that he had a truer understanding of what should—what _must_—form the basis for any sexual act. There were times—and they were many—when he even faulted himself for allowing his own carnal urges to carry him as far as sometimes they did. Still, he scrabbled up from his self-recriminations by recalling that he loved Yumichika genuinely and resolutely, more than could be demonstrated in any manner of coupling.

Yumichika, on the other hand, had very different views of the matter. He knew that Ikkaku, deep in his heart, had taken on the mantel of a Capchetan. His soul had been formed by and imbued with the teachings of the only men he had ever admired in the world of the living. Whether or not he was ever to become one of them, it was clear to Yumichika that certain teachings had already become a part of him. One of those teachings was that of celibacy, predicated on the notion that a man could only fully give himself to one thing. Ikkaku had chosen to give himself to Yumichika – as protector, provider, and companion. But not as sexual partner. No, sex would only get in the way and muddle the relationship. Yumichika was sure this had to be Ikkaku's line of thinking. And he would not ridicule him for it. He had no doubt of Ikkaku's love for him – with or without sex – and such love was not something he'd expected to find beyond the living world.

Now, stopping his sensual exploration of Ikkaku's body at his hips, he sat up, his hair falling loose over his shoulders, and absently traced his finger in a circle around Ikkaku's nipples, first one then the other. "Do you ever feel like I push you too much?"

Ikkaku considered. "Sometimes." He rubbed his hands up Yumichika's thighs, bringing them together over the thick growth surrounding his manhood. Here, he ran his fingers through the fine, silky hair. This was one of Yumichika's physical features that Ikkaku most enjoyed touching. Instead of the usual coarse hair of most men, Yumichika's was soft and downy. It was just one more beautiful aspect of a beautiful body. Ikkaku never grew tired of looking at him, never grew tired of touching him. He only feared that he was not giving Yumichika enough. "And then there are times when I wish I could give you more, when I wish I were . . . more like Mendalo."

It was a risky thing to say.

Yumichika had learned of Mendalo's death while he'd still been hospitalized in the Seireitei, and on top of everything else that had happened, it had been devastating. It had had a detrimental effect on Yumichika's recovery, almost threatening to reverse all the progress he had made to that point.

Only Ikkaku had been able to turn the tide back in Yumichika's favor by reminding him of the good moments they had shared, the steadfastness of Mendalo's love for him, and the fact that Mendalo had probably gone back to the living world as a reincarnated Soul, or—having been as good a man as any could be—perhaps he had moved onto the King's Realm.

Yet, in his own thoughts, Ikkaku often wondered if Ruri'iro Kujaku, had he gotten to Mendalo soon enough, could have restored him.

Yumichika was silent for a moment. The air seemed to hover around him. "Mendalo was perfect . . . for Mendalo. You are perfect for you." He slid down Ikkaku's body and lay atop him, his cheek resting against his shoulder. "I wouldn't want him to be like you, and I would want you to be like him."

"But you loved him, didn't you?" Ikkaku asked, resting his hands on Yumichika's back, damp and warm.

"Of course, I did," Yumichika replied. "But I love you more."

Ikkaku lifted his head slightly and turned to find Yumichika's lips. "First time."

"First time . . . what?" Yumichika asked.

"First time you've said _you_ love _me_."

Yumichika pushed up on his forearms. "It is . . . isn't it? All this time and I've never told you . . . "

"You've told me now," Ikkaku said, reaching up to smooth over the furrowed brow.

Yumichika seemed embarrassed. "Please . . . believe me, even if I didn't say it, I've . . . I've loved you for—since before we left Mito."

Ikkaku smiled up at him. "You know, I'll never understand why."

* * *

The next morning the air was already heavy with approaching rain even as the sun came up.

When Ikkaku came in from the wash porch, he remarked, "Storm's coming. You can smell it on the air."

Yumichika turned from the breakfast he was preparing. "Good. Maybe it will cool things down a bit." He set a bowl on the table. "You'd better eat fast and get on your way or else you may get caught in it."

"Eh, I'm not made of sugar. I won't melt," Ikkaku deferred, even as he downed a piping hot cup of tea in one swallow and emptied the contents of the bowl without even taking a seat.

Yumichika held out a small satchel as Ikkaku headed for the door. "I made you some—"

"I'm sure it'll be delicious, whatever it is," Ikkaku cut him off, snatching the bag. He opened the door and stopped on the threshold. "Be watchful, huh?" Then before Yumichika could even respond, he was on his way towards the woods and the path that led down to the valley.

"There's cone soup in there!" Yumichika called out to him.

Ikkaku raised his arm as an acknowledgment, but he did not even look back.

Perplexed, Yumichika stood in the doorway for several seconds, watching him until he disappeared into the woods, wondering if he had said or done something to upset him. But Ikkaku had not seemed upset, just in a hurry. Yes, it could be that he really was only trying to beat the rain. That would be a reasonable explanation. But the curtness of his words and actions, the . . . evasiveness, not even making eye contact . . . it was peculiar – even for Ikkaku.

Well, if he was still acting that way when he came home, then Yumichika would ask him about it. Until then, there was no sense in worrying or wondering about it. Yumichika went back inside the cottage and sat down to his own breakfast. He had a long list of things to do that day and set about trying to prioritize them in his head.

If the rain was going to come—and there was no doubt of that—then he needed to take care of outdoor chores before the storm broke. After he'd finished eating, he stepped outside into the grey light of sunrise. He could now hear distant peals of thunder coming up from the south. The fact that the storm was coming from that direction told him two things: it was moving slowly; it would be violent and long in duration once it hit. These "southerns" – as the locals called them—came in from the great ocean to the east and once hitting land, they followed the long line of massive inland seas, which allowed them to maintain or even gain strength. By the time they hit the mountain range of which Venla was a part, they were monstrous things: turbulent and destructive.

Yumichika hoped Ikkaku would reach the village before the storm hit. Surely, he thought, Ikkaku would use flash step if needed, in order to get out of the worst of it.

In the meantime, he himself now had his priorities set for him. The stream, which provided most of their water, would become a muddy and raging mess as soon as the rain hit the higher elevations. And considering that they were at the front end of what would likely be a week-long weather event, Yumichika needed to stock up on fresh water. The rain barrels and troughs had always provided well for the cottage's needs in a pinch; but Yumichika had learned early on, during their first stint in the meadow, that it was best to have a backup supply. He had a set of four clay ewers, each holding nearly forty gallons, lined up neatly under a lean-to behind the cottage.

He would need to move quickly if he wanted to bring enough water to fill those ewers before stream's water became undrinkable.

He needed to change into his work clothes. He went behind the screen that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the cottage and stopped short.

Here, he found the reason for Ikkaku's quick departure, and a gentle smile spread across his face.

Hoozukimaru was lying, in sword form, on the foot of the bed they shared . His placement was so conspicuous that there was no way Yumichika would not have seen him the moment he entered the room.

Yumichika crossed over and sat down on the bed. "So, Ikkaku found a way to leave you with me after all."

There was no response. Many years had passed since Hoozukimaru had been able to manifest outside of his master's presence. It had made Yumichika sad to see the slow disappearance of that skill—perhaps one of the good things to have come from Muramasa's insurgence—for he had enjoyed spending time with Hoozukimaru. The dragon had given him a sense of connection. But now that he could only manifest in Ikkaku's presence, certain inhibitions presided over the conversations and it simply was not the same as when Yumichika had been able to talk to Hoozukimaru one-on one.

He lifted the sword and felt its heaviness. "Well, I hope I don't have any need to use you. The only weapon I could use right now is one that could stop the weather. " He set the sword back down on the bed and quickly changed into a work smock that was anything but attractive but definitely functional.

He went outside, grabbed the yoke and buckets from the lean-to, and trotted down to the stream in the chalky light of a mountainside still in shade. He could tell from the sound of the water that the storm had not yet broken over the peaks; and upon coming to the stream, he could see it was still running clear and at its normal size.

He filled the buckets and started back up. It would take him at least two dozen such trips to fill the ewers, and he doubted he had the time; but until the rains came, he would continue.

On his third trip down to the stream, he saw the first black edges of cloud coming over the jagged peaks of the Himmelgeist, the great mountain that towered over Venla and its valley to the south. The cloud mass was moving faster than expected for a "Southern", and Yumichika imagined he'd have only three or four more trips before he was rained out.

As he filled the buckets, he could feel the electricity in the air. The temperature began to drop as the first breathes of wind swept down the downside. He yoked the buckets and got to his feet; but the moment he turned to head back up to the cottage, he stopped.

There was no reason for him to hesitate. In fact, with the encroaching storm, he should be hurrying. He _had_ been hurrying up to this point. But now he stood looking up the path and feeling uncomfortable. It wasn't the same feeling as when he'd thought he was being watched. This was more like a sudden foreboding, an unaccountable dread that something was about to go wrong.

His thoughts turned immediately to Ikkaku. By now, he was most certainly down the mountain and probably approaching the outskirts of the village. The storm might even be breaking over him at this very moment. But that did not, in itself, signify any danger.

Was something happening in the cottage?

Hoozukimaru? Was he alright?

A bolt of lightning came down like a spear, splitting one of the pines behind him on the other side of the stream and bringing a startled cry from his lips. The deafening crack of accompanying thunder directly overhead only added to his anxiousness. He dropped the yoke and began running back up towards the cottage, not knowing why or what he expected to find.

When he came to the edge of the meadow behind the cottage, he stopped and took a quick look around. There was nothing amiss, and yet the sound of the trees creaking in the wind made him jump and check. He crept closer and peered in through the shutter slats of a rear window. The window, glassless and covered only by two wooden draw-up shutters, was one of two windows that looked back onto the woods. This one looked into the bedroom. The other opened into the main room, which served as a living and cooking area.

No one was to be seen. Hoozukimaru was still lying on the bed.

Yumichika moved to the other window and peered inside.

Everything was as it should be.

The wind began whipping up the trees behind him as he edged around the cottage and scuttered over to the wash porch, which was separated from the cottage by a covered walk of less than ten feet. The wash porch was empty.

"_What is wrong with me?"_ Yumichika asked silently. _"There's no one here."_

Yet, he could not shake the sense of misgiving, and with each passing second, he grew more terrified on Ikkaku's account.

"_I have to go down to the village," _he decided suddenly. _"I have to make sure he's okay."_

He went around to the front of the cottage and, not bothering to change out of the smock, he picked Hoozukimaru up off the bed, slid him beneath his obi and went back outside. No sooner had he stepped out the door than he encountered two men as they came around the corner of the cottage.

Yumichika had never seen them before, but they did not immediately strike him as men to be feared. They were well-dressed and clean. The older of the two looked to be in his mid-50s. He was of medium height, carrying an extra thirty pounds or so, clean shaven with high color in his cheeks. He had a horse-shoe shaped growth of reddish-brown hair surrounding a shiny, balding dome. His clothes were good and of a style Yumichika had seen frequently in other parts of Soul Society, but not so much in this area.

His companion, perhaps in his late 20s, was equally well attired. He was a tall, wiry man with hair the color of bluebells, in sharp contrast to the inkwell black of his eyes. He almost had a studious air about him, but there was an underlying slickness that Yumichika could sense within seconds of seeing him.

"I'm sorry. Did we startle you?" the older man asked.

"A little bit, yes," Yumichika replied, his hand resting on Hoozukimaru's hilt. "I wasn't expecting to see anyone up here. What do you want?"

"Well, that's very simple," the older man replied. "We came to take a look at you." He looked him up and down once, but not in a lurid fashion. It was more like a buyer inspecting a product. "And now that we've had a few days to get a good look, I'm satisfied." A pause as he stepped forward and nodded approvingly. "Yes, very satisfied. The closer, the better."

"What—what are you talking about?" Yumichika demanded. "Who are you?"

"My name is Savo," came the reply, spoken easily and without concern. "I'm a . . . procurement specialist, you might say. This is my apprentice, Rolovan." He took a time piece from his pocket, gave it a quick glance. "We do have a time table to keep, so let's make this quick."

"What—" Before Yumichika could speak any further, a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. At the same time, also from behind, a cloth was placed over his mouth and nose.

He struggled only briefly before his thoughts began to fragment and dissipate. He tried to hold his breath, but it was too late. The faintness overtook him and he lost consciousness.

"So, what now? How we gon' get 'im down mount'in?"

Savo barely deigned to look at the man who had asked the question. He was the man who had grabbed Yumichika and was now holding him up. This man had not the fine appearance and refinement of Savo and Rolovan. And his accomplice, still holding the drug-saturated cloth over Yumichika's face, was equally coarse in appearance and manner. But such irritants were to be expected. In a business like Savo's, there would always be the necessity of working with lower forms of humanity. A curse, perhaps, but the rewards were well worth the trouble.

"You have the sheets." It was Rolovan who answered, knowing that for Savo to address the two men would be an insult to his teacher. "Just wrap him up and let's go. This storm is going to break any second, and you don't want to be carrying a rain-drenched load, do you? Get on with it, then."

Moments later, the four men were walking towards the far end of the meadow to pick up the partly overgrown remains of a rarely used trail. Savo and Rolovan walked in the front, hurrying yet unhurried. Behind them the two others came, one in front of the other, and carrying between them, slung over their shoulders, their burden, bound up in any number of sheets.

As they approached the wood's edge, a fifth figure came out to meet them.

"I see you were successful."

"He didn't even put up a fight," Savo replied, his voice confident and arrogant. "But, of course, this is my area of expertise, so the poor little thing didn't even have a chance. Are you sure he was really a Shinigami at one time?"

"Positive."

Savo blinked and shrugged. "Either way, I must thank you for your tip."

"So, now you see I wasn't exaggerating," the newcomer said with equal swagger.

"If anything, you underplayed his attractions," Savo replied. "I am indebted to you. You and I must agree on a fee for your assistance."

"I don't need to be paid, believe me," came the response.

"Oh, but he will bring a king's price at auction," Savo enthused.

Rovolan chimed in. "Beautiful women are a dime a dozen in Gonow. Beautiful men are much harder to come by and . . . in much greater demand."

"And he is _far _beyond beautiful," Savo intoned. "I expect to be a rich man after this. I may even be able to retire at long last." A chuckle. "Ah, but who am I trying to fool? I love my job too much." They entered the woods. "So, I absolutely insist on paying you something for this."

"Oh, my payment will come. But it's not in coin or gold. There's no stone or precious metal in existence that could give me the kind of satisfaction that's just around the corner. And if I do this right, I can enjoy that payment for months to come. Maybe years."

Savo looked askance at him. "You're a mysterious man."

Totui Madarame gave a scoffing laugh. "No. I'm a vengeful man."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thank you to my reviewers, Raven's Shadow, Luinlos, Empires, La Terrible La, Scarlotte O'Hara, bm313, Shirahime Senpai, and Lady LRC. I very much appreciate your comments for the past three chapters. And yes, poor Yumichika takes the brunt of the pain for now. For now. :-) Chapter 5 might also go up later today - or if not, definitely on Monday. If you know others who are Yumichika or Ikkaku fans, please direct them to my stories. The Peacock and its sequels are quite old now and have fallen off the first pages, so I'd be happy to have more readers discover them! Peace, TK**_

Chapter 4 Towards the Port

"_I see you walking through the gates of home.  
__And then I wake up to find I'm still all alone.  
__My only comfort is the love we share.  
__And as I search through this world of sadness everywhere,  
__I've had my share."_

_Haunted  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

Ikkaku ducked into the mill house just as the first raindrops hit the ground. Within seconds, the air was a sheet of water as the storm broke in full overhead.

Yenset, in anticipation of the rising water level, was already barking orders.

"Disengage the wheel!"

Ikkaku and three coworkers immediately climbed up onto the round-house platform and began unlocking the spindle-latches. Within thirty seconds, they had used brute force to lift and disengage the driveshaft from the wallower.

"This is going to be a bad one," Yenset remarked, looking out the double swinging doors into the onslaught of nature. "This doesn't look like something that's going to let up in a few hours – or even a day or two. Look how low those clouds are."

"Should we start moving everything up to the loft?" one of the workers asked.

"I don't think that's going to help," Yenset mattered. "We need to move to higher ground."

The mill, being set about a quarter-mile outside the village, upstream to the east where the river came winding its way up from the south, was situated close to the foot of the southern bordering mountain, while on the north side of the stream, the ground opened up into a wide flood plain, which, at this time of year, was planted with beans in full flower.

The mill, of course by the nature of its function, was subject to flooding on a regular basis. For that reason, even before Yenset had come along, the millers of the past had dug out a cave perhaps two hundred yards up the mountainside and at least fifty feet above the level of the river's normal size. It was a precipitous climb on a zigzag track, but the cave had never been flooded and had saved a good many farmer's hard labor.

Yenset kept a pen of fourteen mules—mainly for dry spells when the river was too low to move the wheel. But they also served as pack animals any time something needed to be moved.

"Let's get moving!" he commanded, and since flooding was a fairly common occurrence, everyone knew their assigned tasks and set to accomplishing them.

It always fell to Ikkaku that his first task was to notify the workers in the grain warehouses and the packing rooms. From there, he headed to the pen to help bring out the mules.

He found himself working alongside a man named Ribi as they tried to coax one stubborn animal from the pen.

"Looks like you got here just in time," Ribi noted. "Another ten minutes, and the bridge will be underwater."

Ikkaku glanced over at the bridge. The level of the river was now less than six inches beneath the lower side of the wooden support beams. "Damn, it must be raining buckets upstream."

"And in the mountains," Ribi added. "Lots o' feeder creeks. Good thing your place isn't downhill o' one."

"Yeah," Ikkaku agreed. "Put your back into, Ribi. By the time we get this thing to move, the whole mill will be washed out."

Ribi planted his feet and doubled-down, but the ground had turned slick and it was hard for his feet to find any purchase. "Maybe we'd do better to lead it." He took a few steps towards the edge of the pen where the soft serrated leaves of a clump of Pigeon's Clover drooped under the weight of the rain. He grabbed up a fistful and offered it to the persnickety beast.

And it worked. The mule followed Ribi and his clover as he made his way slowly across the pen. "Better grab some more o' that stuff!" he instructed Ikkaku. "We may need it to get him up the mountain once he's loaded."

"I can't believe I'm collecting grass for a mule," Ikkaku grumbled, as he pulled up more of the weed. He rejoined Ribi who had now gotten the animal successfully out of the pen.

Ribi grinned. "We all have to debase ourselves sometime," he quipped. "'Least there's no one else here to see it, eh?"

Ikkaku chuckled. "Yeah."

Ikkaku liked Ribi. He always had.

Ribi was close to his own age, quiet and sensible. He wasn't the kind of person who talked simply for the sake of hearing his own voice. He was a hard worker, and he knew how to unwind at the end of the day with a drink or two over at Obrecht's Inn. He liked to hear stories, although he could never be prevailed upon to tell one. Despite knowing that Ikkaku had been a Shinigami, he treated him no differently than he did anyone else. He showed him a healthy respect, but he was like that with everyone.

"You think Yumichika is okay up on the mountain?" he asked. "It's got to be pretty wild up there right about now."

"The meadow's pretty well-protected," Ikkaku replied. "We've weathered much worse up there, so yeah, I'm sure he's fine."

They came to the mill house where they stood in line with their mule behind the others, waiting to receive their load.

And meanwhile, the river continued to rise.

* * *

"Well, this is a nasty business, I must say," Savo remarked as he followed the path through the dripping woods. However, he did not sound as perturbed as his words would seem to indicate. "A storm may be good for heading off any pursuit, but it is not helping our getaway."

"Believe me, nothing is going to head off the pursuit," Totui stated. "Once my son figures out that he's gone, he won't stop until he finds him. But I've got a plan to put him on the wrong track . . . and keep him there until the time is right."

"My goodness, you like to be cryptic," Savo bubbled. "What, please tell, is the right time? It sounds like you intend for your son to find him."

"I do," Totui grinned fiendishly. "But by the time he finds him, it will be too late. Ayasegawa will be completely ruined."

"Ah yes, well . . . so long as he fills my coffers, I don't have any interest in what becomes of him after that," Savo said with a careless flick of his wrist. "But I have to get him to market first. You said your son was a Shinigami. How am I going to outrun a Shinigami? And I have more cargo to pick up on my way to the port. Whatever trick you have, you'd better let me know now; because if I'm not convinced, then I'm afraid I'll have to leave this precious little parcel right here and forego my fortune."

Totui Madarame fought down his disdain for Savo. It irked him that he should have to do business with such a man—one who clearly did not recognize when he was dealing with someone superior to himself. But it could not be helped. Totui had waited too long – almost a hundred and forty years – for this opportunity.

Back when he had worked his last treachery between Ikkaku and Yumichika, he'd considered himself to be the victor. It was only years later, upon discovering that not only were Ikkaku and Yumichika reunited, but they had both become Shinigami, that he realized that, despite his best efforts, they had foiled his plans. Or more aptly put, Ayasegawa had foiled his plans. Who would have thought the little dandy would be stubborn enough to set off after Ikkaku? And find him? And wend his wormy little way back into his life?

No matter. For now the situation presented another opportunity for Totui to exert his influence.

"It's no trick," Totui replied. "Just proof that money can buy you just about anything." A pause. "I'm sure you've noticed that Ayasegawa has barely any spirit energy. No one will be able to detect his presence. So, the key to getting him safely to port is to make sure he's well-hidden. Now, I can guarantee you that as soon as Ikkaku figures out that he's gone, he won't hesitate to ask his friends in the Gotei 13 for help. Whether or not they'll be able and willing to give it is another question. But he will ask for it, so we need to anticipate that there may be Shinigami looking for Ayasegawa as well."

"My, my, this is sounding better and better," Savo remarked with subdued sarcasm.

"Once you reach the east-west highway, it will take you three days to reach the port," Totui went on, ignoring Savo's jab. "There's a lot of traffic on that road, and lot of heavy cargo being moved. That little gem back there will just become part of the load."

"You will have to be more plain, Totui-san. I'm a simple man. What precisely is your plan?" Savo asked.

"There will be a man waiting at the watering post at An Der Warth. He's hauling dozens of crates. He's reserving an empty one just for your use," Totui replied.

Savo made a scoffing noise. "That's your plan? To stuff the little thing into a crate and hope no one notices?"

"That's the plan," Totui replied. "No one will sense any spirit pressure from him. There are thousands of crates on the road to port every day. And if you keep him unconscious, he won't be sending up any signals. The Gotei 13 isn't going to set up a road block on the sea road just to find Ayasegawa. He's not that important."

"You told me he was the Shinigami that defeated the demons all those years ago," Savo reminded him.

"Yes, but I also told you that he's lost his strength since then," Totui said. "You yourself said he didn't put up a fight. Something happened to him, and he doesn't have his power anymore. He won't give you any trouble."

Savo was silent for a moment, then he said with a dramatic sigh. "I suppose my greed will once again get the best of me. Normally, I would never risk my career on such a skimpy plan. But if we're successful, the rewards will be too great to pass up."

"And in the meantime, I'll make sure my son is headed in the wrong direction," Totui said.

"How will you do that?"

Totui grinned. "You don't need to know. All I can tell you is that as soon as we meet up with the driver on the sea road, I'll be heading back this way. From that point, you're on your own."

"And how am I to pick up my other . . . merchandise on the way to the port? I have at least two dozen I need to get."

"That's your problem," Totui replied. "I've provided you with the one who will make you a rich man. If you want to risk him in order to get the other ones, that's your decision."

"Oh, yes, decisions, decisions!" Savo laughed. "I suppose I will have to devise a way to make it happen. Two dozen is not something I am willing to throw away. The _Hamasho_ doesn't sail until Monday morning. There may be time to retrieve the others."

"What about this?" Rolovan asked. He was holding up a sword. "He was carrying it."

Totui looked at the weapon. "That's my son's sword."

Rolovan's eyes widened. "That would make it a zanpakuto."

"Yes, it would," Totui grinned. "I'll tell you what. You two keep it. It's my way of saying thank you. I'm sure it will bring a good price,"

"Do we want to be carrying around a zanpakuto, Master Savo?" Rolovan asked.

"That's a good question," Savo replied.

"What if—what if it somehow is able to tell Madarame where we are?" Rolovan asked.

"Totui-san? What about it?" Savo asked.

"I don't know a lot about zanpakuto," Totui admitted. "But if it bothers you, you can just toss it into the woods. Leave it here."

"I hate the idea of losing money," Savo minced. "But it's not worth the risk. Rolovan, leave it here."

The trees were too close together for him to fling the sword, so he made an underhanded toss into the ferny growth lining the path. At the moment he dropped the sword, a strong wind overhead shook the trees. A loud crack could be heard above, and a large branch came plummeting down, taking out several other branches on its way.

Totui, Savo and Rolovan sprang forward while the two men carrying Yumichika leaped backwards.

"Damn! That war' close!" the first man gasped. "We needs get outa this for'st afore we's killed."

Savo's head appeared over the top of the needled branches. "Is there any damage?"

The two men knew that Savo was not inquiring about them, but only about their captive.

"Ney, ain't no dam'ge," the second man replied. "Jus'as we bes' be makin' time, or he gon' wake up."

"On your feet then," Savo ordered. "You can walk around."

The two men got to their feet.

The first man, glanced over his shoulder. "Keppy, we goin' this way. Shorta this way."

Keppy nodded in a quick, furtive manner. When he stood up, no one noticed as he tucked the discarded sword under his hakama. "I comin', Crampus."

* * *

"How much more is there?" Ikkaku met one of his coworkers at the mouth of the cave.

"Twenty or thirty pallets still in the bagging rooms," came the reply. "I don't know about the grain warehouses. The mill house has been cleared out."

Yenset had placed Ikkaku in charge of the placement of the goods in the cave, while he had stayed down at the bottom to oversee the evacuation.

Over the past four hours, Ikkaku had watched the river rise through the line of trees below the cave. The bridge was well under water and the level of the river was just below the grinding floor of the mill house. He'd heard reports brought from the village that the river had breached its banks and was spreading through the streets. The villagers were well-versed in emergency preparations, having been through countless floods before; but even so, there was always a sense of urgency when the weather brought such excitement.

Ikkaku had been caught down in the valley numerous times before by bad weather. And he had never worried about Yumichika up on the mountain. The cottage was sturdy – how many years of abandonment had it endured without ever falling into complete disrepair? And when it was looked after and tended, it had been well able to withstand the snows of winter, the rains of spring, and the storms of summer. There was no chance of flooding at the cottage. The greatest threat was wind damage, and even that was minimal, given the tree break on the southern edge of the meadow behind the cottage.

But this time, Ikkaku felt a persistent nagging poking just below his level of attention, which, at the moment, was fully directed towards the task at hand. It wasn't that he feared for Yumichika due to the storm. It was simply the fact that on his first day back at work, such a storm should hit, likely keeping him down in the valley longer than he would have liked. He wanted to make sure that whatever Yumichika might have felt last week had not returned. Yet, he could not leave the mill yet. He had a job to do, and he would see it completed before heading back up the mountain. The fact that the bridge was out was no obstacle to him, for he could use flash step to get over the swollen river. He could be back up at the cottage within minutes, make sure Yumichika was okay, and then return to offer his help in the village. Yumichika could come with him.

_Yeah._ If Yumichika came back with him, he'd feel a lot better about things.

"Okay, let's get the last of those pallets up here. We've got another hour before the water makes it impossible," he ordered. "The sooner we're finished, the sooner we can all get back to our families." A quirky smile of surprise crossed his face as he considered that he was including himself in that category.

_Family._

* * *

By late afternoon, they were in sight of the east-west highway, and at last, Totui Madarame could breathe a sigh of relief.

The fact was he'd not really been sure they'd get even this far before Ikkaku sent out the pursuit and tracked them down.

Totui had spent the past thirty years observing the actions of his two subjects, and he'd noted with varying degrees of disgust and satisfaction that they'd fallen into a series of routines – just like an old married couple. It was disgusting because it bespoke a relationship too good to be true; but the patterns and predictability of that relationship are what had given Totui the temerity to believe he might be able to pull off what he was now attempting.

It was like clock-work. Every weekday morning Ikkaku left for the mill at the same time. He returned home at the same time, usually after stopping off for a drink or two. There was usually a twelve-hour window during which Ayasegawa was alone at the cottage.

A man could travel a long way in twelve hours. Totui could have Ayasegawa well removed from the meadow by the time Ikkaku came home, making the search that much more difficult.

But then Ayasegawa had grown suspicious, and it occurred to Totui that the former Shinigami might be recovering some small part of his former abilities. He had lain low for the next several days, especially since Ikkaku had decided to stay at the cottage. And this turned out to be more than mere nuisance, for he had already brought Savo up to have a look at the beauty of whom he had so highly spoken. After nearly a week of waiting, Savo had been ready to give up the entire idea and head off on his merry way. But then, as fortune would have it, Ikkaku had gone down to work this morning – the very morning Savo had been planning to leave.

Totui and his party had moved in quickly. The sooner they made the snatch, the more time they would have to get away.

The storm, however, had slowed them considerably. And yet, Totui was not so sure the weather was working against his plan.

Surely, Ikkaku would be kept longer at the mill due to the weather? And wouldn't his own pursuit be impeded by the harsh conditions?

Or had he been sent home early on account of the storm and the rising waters?

No, no, that would not be the case. Yenset had never released his workers until the mill was evacuated and secure. He would do no differently this time.

If only Totui could feel as sure as his reason insisted.

The sooner he passed off Ayasegawa to the cargo hauler, hidden away among the thousands of transports going to and from the port, the better he'd feel.

"Ay, 'e's comin' to ag'in," Crampus announced.

"Take care of it, then," Rolovan said with cool disinterest. It wasn't the first time the merchandise had begun to wake up over the past ten hours. They'd stopped at least three times to employ the liquid-soaked cloth, but now that this part of the journey was almost over, it seemed that this would be the final time it was needed.

Normally, they had little use for it, but Savo was quite particular with this procurement. He knew Yumichika's past as a Shinigami, and the possibility of shunpo was a threat he would not risk. Sore luck it would be, indeed, if his prize acquirement broke free for the split second it would take for him to use the flash step and escape. He had to keep him close-bound and close-held.

"I can see our transport," Totui announced. During an interlude in the rain, he'd gone up to the top of a small moss-covered mound of rocks and was scanning the plain below as Yumichika's two bearers took care of their charge.

Savo and Rolovan joined him.

"That cargo hauler, there." Totui pointed out a long flatbed vehicle with canvas sides, hooked to the back of what looked like an ancient tractor. It was parked in a muddy lay-by, and a man could be seen walking around it, checking the wheels and tightening the tie-downs.

"My, my, that's a rather . . . rustic relic, isn't it?" Savo said, his sarcasm hidden only by his determination that nothing should come between him and his greed.

"It'll be sufficient," Totui replied.

"Then I suppose we'd better get down there as quickly as we can, before it starts to rain again," Savo stated.

Within the hour, they had come down the last part of the mountain and stood on the east-west highway less than a quarter-mile from where the hauler was parked.

Being that it was high summer, the sun, even at seven o'clock in the evening, was still far above the horizon; however the heavy storm clouds make the day dark and fall-like. The stifling heat had been tempered a bit by the rain fall, but the air was still warm and sticky.

The road was packed with vehicles, both to and from the port.

Savo could see, through the parted flaps of several transports, that the human trade was in full hum this evening. But he had known it would be so. The _Hamasho_ was due to set sail in four days. The pre-eminent slave ship would be crowded, but Savo never had to worry: he had a guaranteed forty spaces, and this time only twenty-eight would be filled. He was normally able to fill every space – easily; but this month he had spent so much time scoping out one single procurement that he'd missed filling the other slots. It hardly mattered, though. This one beauty would bring more money that the rest of the lot combined. In fact, Savo felt confident that he might bring more money than the ship's entire human cargo, which at maximum capacity, numbered close to two hundred.

As the party approached, the transport's driver came out a few steps to meet them. There were no greetings, no exchange of pleasant and meaningless words.

"Five hundred," the driver stated bluntly, holding out his calloused hand.

Totui produced the payment from within the folds of his garment.

The driver opened the rear flaps and climbed onto the bed. He weaved his way through a maze of wooden crates, moving towards the front of the vehicle. Turning and seeing no one behind him, he raised his voice, "C'mon! Follow!"

Totui climbed up first, then Rolovan, who extended a hand and helped Savo up. They all three went up to where the driver was standing beside a small square box. It could not have been more than three feet by three feet wide and two feet high. "Heem go here."

"Well, that's rather a tight fit, don't you think?" Savo remarked.

It was clear the driver did not understand him.

Totui replied, "You'll want a tight fit. Believe me, you don't want him to be able to move until you get him to the port. If Ikkaku finds him, not only will you lose your money, but you may lose your life. And if Yumichika gets free and uses flash step, your opportunity will be over."

Savo smiled. "Ah, I love the risk that comes with this profession. It makes things so much more exciting." Turning, "Rolovan, tell them to bring him up."

Less than a minute later, Crampus and Keppy had brought Yumichika into the transport and set him down on the floor.

"Unwrap him," Savo commanded. "Then put one of those sheets in the bottom of the crate. I don't want him to get scuffed up."

"You wan' as we should tie 'im?"

"Very thoroughly," Savo answered. "Gag and blindfold, as well. When you've finished, cover him over with another sheet."

"'Ow we gon' get 'im in that?"

"You just have to curl him up a bit—" Savo began.

"Ain' gon fit."

Savo sighed in exasperation. "Rolovan, see to it."

"I will, Master."

Savo and Totui walked back to the rear of the bed and climbed down, while the driver stayed to watch the "packing."

"So, this is where we part ways," Totui announced. "I'm on way back to Venla to throw my son off the trail, but you have to be on that ship when it sails."

"I will be, with my sweet little trinket in tow," Savo assured him. "Are you absolutely certain you'll accept no payment? At least let me compensate you for what you just paid the driver."

"No," Totui deferred. "The best repayment you can give me is to make sure he ends up someplace where they won't want to let him go." He turned to leave, but paused. "And Savo, be wary. He knows he's beautiful, and he may try to use that against you. Don't fall for his tricks."

"Eh, pretty he may be, but I'm not one for boys."

"Just the same, be careful," Totui repeated. With that, he departed.

Savo watched after him for a few seconds, glad to be rid of a man he considered so beneath him. Still, Totui had done him a good turn, so he could not be too condescending. And fair was fair – it was clear that Totui had thought equally little of him.

He strolled along the side of the road, indifferent to the mud caking up the hem of his pants, and watched the steady flow of slow-moving transports passing by. The weather had bogged down their movement to a crawl, and this was pinging on his nerves. Even though his prize would be well-hidden and immobile, the idea of being out on the highway made Savo feel vulnerable. Three days would seem like a century, hauling such valuable cargo, and with the fear that at any second, he might be found out. And with the pace of the traffic at the moment, it was questionable that he would even get to the port in three days. If he missed the _Hamasho_, he would either have to wait for its return two months later or he would have to take another slave ship and pay for passage. He returned to the transport.

"Rolovan, how's it coming up there?"

Rolovan appeared between the flaps. "We've just finished. He's wedged in there like a splitter into a tree," he said with a satisfied grin. "I don't think he'll be able to move an inch. And we pulled another crate over top of his, so he won't be able to get out; and if we're stopped, it will make him harder to find."

"Very good, then it's time for you to go retrieve the rest of our merchandise," Savo said. "I will travel with this one. Take Crampus and Keppy and meet me berthside. If you aren't able to get there in time for sail, then make passage on the next ship that has room for all of them." He passed a leather pouch to him. "This should be more than enough."

"I'll do everything I can to get there on time," Rolovan proclaimed. "I wouldn't want to miss my master's finest hour when he presents at auction."

Savo smiled. Ah, Rolovan was a man after his own heart.

* * *

"Yenset-san."

Yenset, standing at the mouth of the cave, turned to see Ikkaku approaching from below. He'd sent him down to ensure no one was left in or around the mill and its warehouses, now that the evacuation was complete.

"Ikkaku, did you find anyone?" the miller asked.

"No, it's all clear," Ikkaku replied. He paused and spoke with an almost apologetic voice. "The mill house is half under water."

Yenset was optimistic. "At least, we got most of the grain out of the warehouses."

"The mules always do their jobs," Ikkaku said with a grin. "Have you set a watch schedule yet?"

"Yes," came the reply. "Here, take a look." He held out a clipboard with some handwritten papers on it. "I don't have you on until tomorrow afternoon. I know you must be anxious to get back up the mountain and check on Yumichika."

"Yeah," Ikkaku conceded. "The sun's going down, and I know he'd feel better if I got back before it gets dark. I'm sure he's probably going out of his mind with worry. You know how he is."

"Then I'll see you back tomorrow at four. Be safe," Yenset cautioned. "The wind is picking up again. Looks like the next round is coming."

The journey back to the cottage was at first undertaken using speed step, but as soon as Ikkaku came to the trail leading up through the forest, he had to revert back to regular progress. The number of downed branches and fallen trees made the path impossible to navigate at accelerated speed. Not to mention, the path, being well worn, had turned into its own raging miniature torrent, coursing down through the furrows dug by years of use.

By the time Ikkaku was halfway up the mountain, the wind was again howling through the valleys, driving up the heights below him and whipping the treetops above him in a frenzy of unfettered power.

He was trying to run up the path, but that was proving difficult. Still, he trudged on. Seeing the storm's fury on the mountain, he no longer felt as sanguine as he had about the situation at the cottage.

The sun had set and darkness had fallen when he arrived at the meadow.

And immediately, he knew something was wrong.

Usually, if he arrived home in the dark, he could see the pale shards of light seeping out from the slats in the shutters or from under the door.

The cottage was completely black.

He ran forward and opened the door.

"Yumichika?"

No answer.

"Yumi—damn, why is it so dark in here?!" he cursed, stumbling forward and fumbling around on the table for the candle. "Why do we keep it so dark in here?!" It was his fear talking, and he let it have expression as he groped for the matches. At last, he had the candle lit and, in the dim shadows, cast about for any sign of Yumichika.

"Yumichika?!"

The cottage was small, and it took Ikkaku only a matter of seconds to check the two rooms.

The place was empty. Not only was Yumichika gone, but so was Hoozukimaru.

"Fuck . . . oh, fuck," he whispered. He smashed the wick of the candle against his palm and tossed it aside. Then, he ran back out into the rain. He checked behind the cottage, in the wash porch, along the walls of the garden, the water trough. And all the while, he called out Yumichika's name, certain that there was no way his voice could be heard over the tempest.

He followed the path down to the stream, which had swollen to three times its original size and was plunging down the mountain in a debris-filled torrent.

In the rain and darkness, he could just barely make out a round shape, bobbing up and down in the water's edge as it was pinned between two saplings, too close for it to pass through. He splashed through the few feet of water and saw that the object was a bucket. It was then that he noticed, nearby and wedged against a jut of rock, the unmistakable curve of a wooden yoke.

These could only have come from the cottage, for no one lived above them on the mountain. And since the waters were nowhere near the cottage, that meant Yumichika must have been down by the stream.

Panic seized upon Ikkaku's heart.

Had Yumichika been caught in the flood and swept away? In the encroaching darkness, there was no way for him to even begin a search.

"Yumichika!" he screamed, splashing a few yards downstream and then finding himself forced to hold onto a tree in order not to be carried off in the water. He plowed his way back to the dripping undergrowth and stood panting, not know what to do.

Then he had an idea. He closed his eyes and let go of everything outside him.

When he opened his eyes, he was inside his inner world. "Hoozukimaru?!"

At first, there was no answer, but after Ikkaku called out several more times, he heard the dragon's voice, deep and lazy. "What are you hollering at, partner? Can't a guy get some sleep on a miserable day?" He emerged from one of the inner caves of his volcanic lair, yawning and scratching his side.

"Where the hell are you?!" Ikkaku demanded.

"Where am I? What—hey, what's going on?"

"Have you been fucking sleeping this whole time?!" Ikkaku burst out accusatively. "Where's Yumichika?! I left you here for his protection, and he's gone! And you're gone! You _told_ me to leave you here and now this is what's happened! Yumichika is gone!"

"I can sense that now," Hoozukimaru snapped back. "Who—who's hand am I in? I can feel someone else is holding me!"

"Can't you—can't you tell where you are?!" Ikkaku asked, but he already knew the answer. Hoozukimaru could not manifest outside of Ikkaku's presence anymore, and even though he still had the ability to look out through his master's eyes, that would do him no good at the moment, for he would only see what Ikkaku was seeing.

"You know I can't," Hoozukimaru retorted, his own anger rising at his failure.

"Is Yumichika with you?"

"I don't know," the dragon replied, flustered. "I can't sense him."

Inside the steaming, sweltering dragon's lair, Ikkaku slammed his fist against a wall as hot as lava, but he felt nothing. "Damn it, Hoozukimaru! He's gone, and the whole place is flooding! It's night and it's storming, and I can't see to go look for him! Damn, damn . . . " He dropped to his knees. "I shouldn't have left him alone. I shouldn't have left him."

"Pull yourself together," Hoozukimaru ordered. "Return to the outside world, so I can use your senses. We can search together. Maybe I can see something you can't."

Ikkaku gave a single, feeble nod.

Then he returned to the rain and the wind, the thunder and the fury.

* * *

Keppy turned the sword over in his hands.

It was heavy, but not as heavy as it looked.

And it was a zanpakuto. Now, that was exciting in itself. Keppy had never touched a zanpakuto, much less held one in his hands.

Now, he would be the weapon's owner – until he found a good buyer with a deep pocket, for he had no use for such a weapon.

In Gonow, he would find a buyer. They always had plenty of money to spare in that city.

'So's won' be jus Savo what makes good purse this time 'roun',' he thought gleefully. "I'm a make sa penny, too."

He slid the sword back into his clothes just as Rolovan and Crampus came out of the cross roads station.

"The road north is clear, so we should make good time," Rolovan announced. "And I've procured us a coach. Hurry, let's go. We're on a time table."

Keppy grinned to himself. Maybe, if he made a good enough killing on the sword, he could afford to be on his own time table.

* * *

Yumichika drifted up from unconsciousness directly into bewilderment, followed in short order by panic.

He could not move. He could not see.

He was lying on his side, his knees pressed up into his chest, his arms fixed behind him. He could feel the sting of cords digging into his wrists and ankles. Every muscle was cramping, but he could do nothing relieve it. He absolutely _could not move_.

The air was hot and thick and made breathing something he had to think about. His head was pounding, and he felt dizzy and disoriented.

Slowly, the memory of what had happened pieced itself together within his jumbled thoughts, and he was forced to draw the only conclusion possible. He had been kidnapped. The man—Yumichika could not remember his name—had said something about 'coming to get a look' at him. So, it had not been some random happenstance. He had been the man's target.

This led to a whole slew of questions about who the kidnapper was, what his intentions were, and why it had been necessary to 'get a look' at Yumichika before making the decision to take him.

Whoever they were, they were taking no chances that he would escape. He was hemmed tight inside what seemed like a box of some kind, robbed of his sight, and unable to speak, much less call out for help. The jerking and jolting of the box told him he in motion, probably over a dirt road; and given that it felt fairly level, he imagined he was quite a distance from the cottage and the meadow. But in which direction and towards what destination, he did not know.

Did Ikkaku know he was missing? What time of day was it? Had Ikkaku even returned to the cottage yet? Had the storm thrown everything into chaos?

His mind began to race in wild anticipation of the worst possible scenarios; and in his close confinement, with a rag stuffed halfway down his throat and whatever was holding it in place cutting the corners of his mouth, it was not long before he could barely draw breath.

"_Calm down! Calm down! This isn't even the worst situation you've ever been in—not by a long shot," _he scolded. But his own voice dissented somewhere in the back of his mind. _"But you've never been this weak before, either."_

"_Stop! If you don't calm down, you're going to suffocate. You know you'll get out of this. You just have to wait for your chance. And besides, Ikkaku will come after you. He won't rest until he finds you."_

It took a concentrated effort, but he managed to slow his breathing. He could try retreating into meditation, but he balked at the idea. Ever since the loss of Ruri'iro Kujaku, meditation had become something he steadfastly avoided, for it only served to highlight the emptiness left by his zanpakuto's demise.

Instead, he recalled the safety and comfort of lying in Ikkaku's arms.

And he knew.

He knew Ikkaku would find him and bring him back. No matter how long it took.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Dear Reader, Here's a nice short chapter to head into the weekend. I use the German word "sinnflut", which is the same as using the Biblical Great Flood as an allegory. Also, a certain shout-out to one of my faithful readers, who will recognize the name of one of her favorite characters from another anime! ;-) And for everyone who wanted Ikkaku to turn on the ire . . . you get a little taste of it here. Happy weekend! Peace, TK**_

* * *

Chapter 5 The Search Begins

"_Then, through the leaves a light broke through.  
__A path lost for years led us true."_

_House of Four Doors  
_John Lodge

* * *

Almost two days had passed, and no sign of Yumichika.

Ikkaku had enlisted the help of the villagers, and those who were able to assist, did so. But the flood and continued rain had necessitated that many protect their own homes and families against the encroaching waters. Still, Ikkaku took charge of the four or five dozen volunteers and together they combed the area.

If Yumichika had been caught in the gushing sinnflut of the mountain stream, it stood to reason that his body would be deposited in the water meadow; but until the water level receded, it was hopeless to search for him there. And indeed, if that was where he was to be found, it would be only because he was dead.

Ikkaku was not prepared to face Yumichika's death a second time.

But more than that, he just did not believe that he was dead. The whole idea that someone might have been watching Yumichika, just waiting for the opportunity to make off with him, had a much firmer place in Ikkaku's mind than did the former. And so, he had his helpers concentrate their search in the woods and on the paths that wended their way across the mountain. They went as far as the east-west highway to the north, to the narrow Kilmer valley in the west—now nothing but a churning brown set of rapids—and to the descending foothills of the east. Checking the land to the south was much more troublesome, for the river made crossing difficult, even for Ikkaku. And the broad flood plains were living up to their name and purpose. If anyone had passed through here, it would have had to have been early after the rain had first started two days ago. And that seemed unlikely.

When the sun rose on the third day with still no success, Ikkaku made a decision. He would go to the Seireitei. He would ask for help. Surely, once Captains Ukitake and Kyoraka learned that Yumichika was missing, they would have to do something. They hadn't spent the last thirty-three years keeping an eye on him for no reason.

He stood glumly in the door of the cottage, waiting for his searchers to return. Some had been out all night, braving the darkness and the rain, their paths lit only by lanterns. Others had returned to the village during the night and were expected back at first light, which was a dull, creeping grey made all the more morose by the steely mantel of cloud stretching as far as the eye could see in every direction.

Ikkaku had not slept in the past two days – not even for a few minutes. He was running on sheer adrenaline. And fear. He'd given Hoozukimaru access to his senses, but the dragon had been unable to detect anything more than he and the others had. Bent fronds here and there. Half-washed out foot impressions on a number of the pathways, but with no way of telling which direction the traveler had been headed.

Now, Ikkaku was ready to ask for the kind of help only the Gotei 13 would offer. He would beg, if necessary.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two men emerge from the north-eastern corner of the wood. They hurried across the meadow towards the cottage. As they drew near, Ikkaku recognized them as Obrecht's two eldest sons, Paulo and Lotor, both grown men.

"Madarame-san!" Paulo, the older of the two, called out. "Madarame-san!"

Ikkaku could tell immediately from his excited manner that he had discovered something. He came out of the doorway and met him at the garden wall. "What is it? Did you find Yumichika?"

"No," Paulo replied, his breath coming in stitches. "But we—we have . . . your father. We have Totui Madarame."

Ikkaku's stomach lurched inside him and he stood unmoving for several seconds. He felt as if his limbs had turned to stone.

"Say that again."

"I know it sounds incredible, but it's true," Paulo replied, and Lotor voiced his own vehement agreement.

"What do you mean, you have him?" Ikkaku asked, his voice flat as a plank.

"He was going east around the mountain, heading south," Paulo said. "We ran right into him as we were headed west along the same path. He tried to pass off like he was someone else, but we knew it was him," Paulo said. "So, when we pressed him, he said he just wanted to pass through with no trouble, and that he didn't want you to know he was in the area."

"Where is he now?"

"Still back on the trail. Uwe and Fent are holding him. We tried to make him come with us, but that bastard put up a fight, and we decided in the end, it would be easier to come get you," Paulo explained.

"How far from here?"

"It took us about four hours," Lotor chimed in. "But you could get there faster using flashstep. They're right on the east frost-line trail."

"I wish I could use flashstep, but there's so much fallen crap, I'd end up getting myself killed. You'll have to show me. Lead the way, and go as fast as you can," Ikkaku ordered.

* * *

Someone was opening his prison again.

Three times before, the cover had been removed. Three times a hand had reached into his darkness to caress his cheek and feel for breath and a pulse. A voice would utter vague reassurances that "It won't be much longer now. You're doing very well."

He thought he recognized that voice as belonging to the man who had spoken to him outside the cottage. He still could not remember his name.

This time, as the top of the box was removed, he could smell the unmistakable saltiness of sea air, and he could hear much activity.

"Easy now, he hasn't been able to move in three days. Be gentle with him. I don't want him to be damaged after coming this far."

Several pairs of hands—he didn't know how many—lifted him out of the box. But his back and legs, so used to being in one position, rebelled against the movement, fighting even gravity, and causing a burning, wrenching sensation to fire through every nerve. He resisted the groans rising up his throat and was humiliated when they eked forth as whimpers.

"Oh, such a pretty, gentle sound – like a little child." A pause. "There, pass him down. Easy. I said to be careful. One scratch and you'll forfeit your pay. Bring him over here. Set him down—not there. Here. Very good. Thank you. Here, for your trouble."

Yumichika could tell he was sitting on ground – or something similar – with his back leaning up against a wall that had the feel of stone.

"Now, let's take this off."

Someone removed the gag. The blindfold followed. "It's still dark outside, so your eyes shouldn't be too bothered. They might be sensitive later on when the sun comes up, but you should be okay for now."

When Yumichika's eyes adjusted to the dim scene around him, he discovered that he was, indeed, sitting on the ground – a paved stone surface – at the edge of a bustling hotbed of action. He knew right away that he was at a seaport, even though the water was somewhere out of sight.

His arms and legs were still bound, his body still bent and stiff.

On top of that, he was shaking. Badly. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything in three days. He felt weak and nauseous.

He turned his head up and to the side to see who was with him.

It was the man from the cottage, sitting on a protrusion from the stone wall that was meant to serve as a bench.

"You don't look well," Savo remarked. "Oh well, that will pass off soon enough." He chuckled. "You don't get seasick, do you?"

"What are you doing?" Yumichika asked, his voice thin and raspy.

"Oh, just waiting for my apprentice to arrive, and then loading time. You really do look and sound awful. Are you hungry?"

Yumichika considered. Whatever was going on, he had first to look after his survival. He was hungry – starving, actually. And he hoped some food might take the edge of the nausea. "Yes," he replied.

"I'll bet you are," Savo nodded. "Let's see what we can do." He looked around but did not take a single step away from his prize. After scanning about for thirty seconds or so, he saw a young boy, no older than ten, go hurrying by.

"Boy! You, boy!"

The child turned. "Ee-yuh?" He was filthy and barefoot, his clothes hanging from his body in tatters; yet he was bright-eyed and filled with a nervous eagerness.

Savo held up a single coin. "Do you want this?"

The child displayed a wiley expression and would not come nearer. "An' if I do?"

"Just bring me one of the food vendors. You know, the men with the carts—"

"I knows wha's is! I brin' un, and git coin-eh?"

"Yes, yes. Now go, and be quick about it!"

The boy set off, and Savo flipped the coin once before putting it back in his pocket. "What an urchin will do for a trifle."

Yumichika had no response. His mind was still numb with disbelief at what was happening to him. At last, he fell back on simple necessity. "I can't eat with my hands tied."

"Oh, don't fret over that," Savo waved off. "I'll feed you myself."

"Couldn't you—couldn't you just tie my hands in front of me?"

Savo chortled at this idea. "You're not so clever, my precious gem. With you, I take no chances."

They said nothing more until the boy returned and behind him, a man pushing a vending cart before him.

"Ah, here we are. Well done, little sir. Here's your payment."

The boy snatched the coin away and with a glint in his eye raced off into the milling crowd.

"So, Yumichika, whatever you like, as much as you like."

As it turned out, the vendor only had some over-cooked pinwraps and rice timbalis that had been reheated three or four times too often. Even so, he was well paid for them. To drink, he had a bitter lemon water that was too warm too be enjoyable.

But Yumichika was so famished, he did not care about the quality of the cuisine. He even overlooked the indignity of being fed from Savo's chubby fingers.

"Rolovan should be arriving soon with the rest of my procurement," Savo stated, reaching out with a handkerchief to wipe Yumichika's face, from which Yumichika retreated.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. You want to go around now with a mess on your face? For someone so beautiful, you have the delicacy of a horse when it comes to eating," Savo quipped. "Of course, I suppose it couldn't be helped, hm?

"I don't care how I look," Yumichika said.

"I hardly believe that, but suit yourself."

Yumichika watched the goings-on on the wharf. People—mostly men—moving and directing the movement of cargo, shouting out orders, cursing and laughing. And every now and then, a group of chained individuals would pass by where he was sitting, disappearing out of view behind the wall. The groups had been of indiscriminate makeup – men, women, children of all ages.

Slaves.

And now Yumichika was one of them.

"Where are you taking me?" he finally asked in a steady, emotionless voice.

"To Gonow."

"Gonow?" He tried to think if he knew the place. "I've never heard of it."

"Really? It's on the other side of the ocean, the lowest of the eastern numbers. It's quite a large city," Savo grinned. "Filled with depravity and debauched souls. It's quite a fascinating place. You never went there on any of your patrols as a Shinigami?"

Yumichika was caught short. "How did you know I was a Shinigami?"

"Oh, that's not important," Savo dismissed. "What's important is that you seem to have lost your Shinigami abilities. But I won't underestimate you. Why do you think I'm being so cautious? As long as you're in my possession, I will be vigilant. Once you've changed hands and the money is tight in my purse, it won't matter how careless your buyers are."

"You mean to sell me then?"

"Of course. And to make a swift amount of money, I must say."

"But . . . why me? I mean, how did you even happen to see me? The mountain is so remote and no one ever goes there."

Savo leaned back and folded his hands over his ample belly. "I got a tip. A man—a complete stranger, you know—approached me one afternoon while I was taking my supper in a local watering hole down south—a place popular with traders. He'd heard what my profession was and told me that he could lead me to the most beautiful, exquisite creature in existence. And that it would be an easy grab. He was right on both accounts."

Yumichika was stumped. Who would want to sell him into slavery? "This man . . . did he tell you his name?"

"Totui Madarame."

Yumichika blanched.

Savo knew the revelation would be devastating, and he could detect the horror behind the thin veneer. "I see that name is disturbing to you. Your lover's father. Well, I can't say I blame you for disliking him. He really is an objectionable man, but he did direct me to you, and I am grateful to him."

Yumichika's voice was barely audible above the sounds of the wharf mayhem. "You're not selling me to him, are you?"

Savo snorted disdainfully. "No. He would never be able to afford you."

A long silence followed, after which Yumichika implored, "Is there no way I can talk you out of this?"

"Are you rich?" Savo asked, examining his nails in the burgeoning light and frowning at their messy state.

"No."

"Then I'm afraid not," Savo replied. "But don't worry. A beauty like you will be taken into a great household. You will likely have the best of everything, much better than anything you were able to have up in that little cottage."

"I like it on the mountain," Yumichika insisted. "I want to go back there."

"My little gem, that's not going to happen," Savo said. "A man's got to make a living, and you're going to make a large contribution to mine."

"Ikkaku will come looking for me," Yumichika informed him. "He won't stop until he finds me."

"Oh, I believe you," Savo replied. "That's why I'm in a hurry to unload you. Like I said, once I have my money, I don't care if he finds you and takes you away. That will be the problem of the person who buys you."

Another pause. "What did Totui pay you to do this?"

"What did he pay me? Nothing. In fact, I offered to pay him for leading me to such a rare find, but he would take no money." He snickered. "If I were any other man, I might feel guilty about that, but I've long since abandoned any idea of a conscience. Ah! Look, here comes Rolovan! Wonderful!"

_Wonderful_ was the last word Yumichika would have used to describe the situation.

* * *

As soon as Ikkaku came within sight of his father, he stopped dead in his tracks.

It had taken a little less than four hours to come to the place where Paulo and Lotor had left Totui Madarame in the custody of Uwe and Fent, both of whom were mill-house workers and friends of Ikkaku.

Ikkaku spoke low and evenly without looking at his two companions. "You can go back now."

"Ikkaku-san?"

"You don't need to see any of what's about to happen here," Ikkaku said.

"But—but you might need help—"

"Trust me. I won't need any help," Ikkaku replied. "Thank you for finding him. Please go back to the village." He cross the last thirty yards and dismissed Uwe and Fent, both of whom offered to stay, but Ikkaku was gently adamant.

Now free and unguarded, Totui sneered, "What's this all about? You had people out looking for me?"

Ikkaku shook his head slowly, but not in answer to the question. "No, no . . . no . . . no." His voice came from deep in his throat, wafting up in dangerous tones. "There's not going to be a discussion." He came closer. "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"You know who," Ikkaku said, every muscle tensing and requiring great restraint not to spring into violent action.

"Oh, _him_," Totui scoffed. "Well, how should I know where he is? Are you unable to keep track of your little whore?"

Ikkaku refused to be drawn in. "I told you . . . we're not going to talk about this. You either tell me where he is right now—" How he wished he had Hoozukimaru at his side "—or I'll kill you with my bare hands."

"I'm sure you could, Shinigami and all that—" Totui suddenly found himself choking and struggling for air, Ikkaku's hands squeezing his throat shut.

"I don't need you to find Yumichika," Ikkaku ground out venomously. "But I know you're at the bottom of this. You'll only get one more chance. You either tell me where he is, or you'll be heading back to the world of the living as a worm. Or if there's any justice in the universe, you'll go straight to hell." He released him, chucking him to the ground in the process, where he landed gasping on his hands and knees.

After catching his breath, he started up to his feet. "And if I tell you what I know, are you still going to kill me?"

"Maybe."

"I sold him into slavery."

The suddenness with which he so disinterestedly uttered those words caused Ikkaku to be unsure whether he was serious or not.

But where his son was caught speechless, Totui had no such problem. "Don't you believe me? I can assure you it's true. I've been planning this for—well, ever since I learned that you'd returned to Venla."

Ikkaku remained stunned and silent.

"We had planned to make the grab almost two weeks ago, but that little pin cushion somehow got suspicious—I was surprised, actually, because he has barely a breath of spirit pressure—"

Ikkaku grabbed the neck of his kimono and slammed him face-first against the smooth trunk of a Beech tree. "Shut up!" he screamed. He whirled him around and pounded his back against the same tree. "You're going to take me to him, and then you're going to die."

"Why—why should I take you to him if you're just going to kill me?" Totui spat out around the blood in his mouth.

Ikkaku drew very close. "Because I think you'd rather be dead than tortured. And if you don't take me to him . . . that's what you'll be facing. I can make you regret your very existence, just like you tried to make me regret mine. But the pain _I'll_ inflict . . . will be physical. It will reflect all the hatred I've built up for you over an awful long time. And it will never end until you show me where Yumichika is."

Totui glared at him. "How do you know I won't lead you on a wild goose chase?"

"I don't," Ikkaku replied. "But if I even suspect that's what you're doing, I won't hesitate to make you suffer." He began dragging him uphill along the muddy path.

"Where are we going?"

"Our first stop is the Gotei 13."

Totui stumbled along behind him, smiling inwardly at the predictability of his son. Totui had fully expected Ikkaku to call upon the Gotei 13 for assistance, but he hadn't imagined he would do it quite so soon.

No matter. Things were working out even better than planned.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Thank you to my loyal readers and reviewers! Here's the latest . . . hope you enjoy!_**

Chapter 6 The _Hamasho_

"_In the silence just before the dawn,  
__We rise to meet the morning.  
__In the calm that comes before the storm,  
__A troubled and a restless heart is born."_

_The River of Endless Love  
_John Lodge and Justin Hayward

Yumichika could only stare in horror. He had seen many terrible things over the years. He had been subject to unspeakable atrocities upon his own person.

But this was his first experience witnessing the barbarism and cruelty of the slave trade.

It wasn't that he had not known slavery existed in Soul Society. Everyone knew it did. But no one ever spoke of it. It was an evil much ignored, mainly because the bulk of the trade took place in the furthest eastern numbers, across the sea in lands largely abandoned by the Gotei 13.

Yumichika had never given much thought to why the lower east was so forsaken by the Gotei 13. He'd only been across the sea maybe twice in his entire tenure as a Shinigami, and neither time had he come face-to-face with the victims of slavery. He hadn't given it any thought, and since it was widely agreed that the denizens of the lower east were hell-bound anyway, there seemed little purpose in spending much time trying to bring justice to the place.

But what Yumichika was witnessing now was making him revisit his indifference to the matter.

The other man, Rolovan, had arrived. And he was not alone. He had in tow such a pathetic gaggle of forlorn souls that Yumichika could not take his eyes from them. There were four men, all of them physically fit, but it was obvious that their mental capacities were those of children. They were dull and compliant, defeated; whereas a man in his adult mind would go only defiantly into such bondage. Then there were quite a number of women. They were of every shape and size; some attractive, others not. All were subdued and worn down in silent distress. The rest were children, and these were what held Yumichika aghast. They were all ages, the youngest looking to be no more than two years old and being carried in the arms of a girl who could not have been more than ten. There were boys and girls, several of them who looked to be in their late teens . . . Yumichika's age. A few had the sparks of hatred and boldness in their eyes, but most had already accepted their fate and stood dumbly awaiting the next order.

They were shackled at the wrists and ankles and joined one to the other by a chain running through eyelets on the left ankle cuffs. They were all begrimed and disheveled, and Yumichika could smell the stench of sweat and fear from where he sat only a few yards away.

Rolovan approached Savo.

"Master."

"Ahhh, Rolovan. I knew you would make it. No losses?" Savo stood up but did not move a step away from Yumichika.

"None," Rolovan replied. "And I see the trinket made it, as well."

"Oh, of course. He gave us no trouble at all." Savo looked at his time piece. "You'd better take them straight over. Loading should have begun by now."

Before leaving, Rolovan motioned to Keppy, who brought forth two sets of manacles. "I thought you might want these."

"Ah, such an apprentice. You anticipate my every thought," Savo complimented him. "Help me put these on him. And be wary."

Rolovan used a short ankle knife to cut Yumichika's bonds and swap them out for the manacles. It was such a meticulous and overly cautious exercise that Yumichika did not even attempt an escape. He would do better to wait for a more opportune chance.

"I will see you on board, master," Rolovan stated. "I have twenty-two for the bill of lading. Shall I count him as twenty-three?"

"No, no. He shall go as a passenger, not cargo."

Rolovan nodded. "Very well."

With that, he turned and with a wave of his hand, ordered Crampus and Keppy to begin herding the cargo.

Yumichika watched as they disappeared past him and behind the wall at his back. "Where's he taking them?"

"To the slave decks."

"Why aren't I going with them?"

"How many times do I have to tell you? You're too valuable to risk in the hold. First of all, you might manage to escape. I'm not a fool. You may look weak and helpless, but only an amateur would fall for that. Second, if you didn't escape, they would eat you alive down there."

Yumichika did not have the courage or desire to ask what he meant by those words.

"Believe me," Savo sent on. "You don't want to be down on the slave decks. You wouldn't last a single day into the voyage. You'll be in my room. You'll be safe there."

"How many days is the voyage?"

"If conditions are good, it will take about three weeks. If there's not much wind, it could take up to five weeks . . . or longer. Let's hope for good weather," Savo said. "Here now, can you stand? I can hold you up. You're probably still stiff."

Yumichika considered pretending he could not stand or walk until Savo said, "I can always find someone to carry you."

"I can walk, but go slowly," Yumichika replied. "I _am_ still stiff, and these leg irons don't help."

They walked slowly along the stone wall, and coming to its end, they turned right and here Yumichika stopped, despite himself. The hub-bub he had seen on the other side of the wall was nothing as compared to this scene. The wharf and the piers were jam-packed with people; most of them appeared to be slaves.

Against the wharf, two monstrous tall ships were moored in dread silence. Further out in the harbor, at least eight more ships were anchored.

Yumichika did not know, but the port—aptly named Western Passage—was the only deep water port on the east coast. The man-made wharfs abutted waters nearly two hundred feet deep, while the anchorage in the port's natural harbor was twice that depth. As such, the port saw a great deal of business; and for countless centuries, Thursday mornings had been the primary outbound days for the slave ships.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Savo remarked as Yumichika stood staring. "Such a massive throng of humanity. And in less than three hours, this whole place will be empty, as if no one ever stood here."

Yumichika took a moment to gather his wits. "How—how . . . why doesn't Central 46 try to stop this?"

Savo was still smiling at the organized chaos before him. "Why would they want to do that? They have many greater things to worry about, don't they? You know, it's important for me to keep abreast of all the news, so I know they've had their hands full. The slave trade is barely worth their notice. And besides, they have use of it from time to time."

Yumichika turned sharply. "What do you mean they have use of it?"

"Just what it sounds like. They've made us of the slave trade from time to time," Savo repeated.

"I—I don't believe that," Yumichika hissed.

"It makes no difference to me if you believe it or not," Savo shrugged, and it was clear he really did not care. "But you would do well to realize that you're not dealing with saints in Central 46. You lived in the bubble, in Seireitei's golden towers. You lived inside the dream. Those of us who live outside, we see Central 46 for what it really is."

"And what is that?" Yumichika asked.

For the first time, the smug, chipper demeanor left Savo's person, and he grew dark and somber. "Tyrants and elitists," he said through a clenched jaw. "Come on. We're going aboard."

* * *

Totui dropped to his knees, retching.

Ikkaku stood over him, watching with venomous satisfaction.

At length, Totui wiped his hand over his mouth, but he did not get up. He remained on all fours, like the animal Ikkaku took him to be. Only no animal existed that was as vile as his father.

"I—I can't—do—th—that again," Totui gasped.

By _that_, he was referring to flashstep.

Once Ikkaku had cleared the mountains on foot and crossed the east-west, he had enough open, unobstructed country to begin using the speed movement on his way to the Seireitei. Carrying the extra weight of his father slowed him down and made the going tedious, but he was not going to stop. One entire day had passed on foot, and now that he could use shunpo, he wasn't going to let a little thing like his father's motion sickness derail him.

He'd given his father ample opportunity to divulge the details of his plot, yet Totui had remained steadfastly silent.

Ikkaku had refrained from anything too violent. After all, while it might be true that he was determined to find Yumichika with or without his father's help, he did prefer to have that help. And if he beat the man to a pulp, little good would it do him?

"You're _going_ to do it again," Ikkaku growled. "As many times as it takes. And I don't care if you heave your literal guts out in front of me. I might even laugh." He felt his shoulders tighten. "You don't know how _good_ it makes me feel to see you down there like a pig wallowing in the mud."

"And what—what is it you—expect t-to do, taking me to the Se-Seireitei?"

Ikkaku sneered. "I may not be able to get any information from you, but there are people in the Gotei 13 who specialize in it."

Totui sat up on his heels, and despite his undignified appearance, he still managed to maintain a derisive air. "So, they're just the sadists . . . I always thought they were."

"Consider yourself lucky that I'm thinking rationally," Ikkaku warned. "Because the greater part of me doesn't want to take you to the Gotei 13. The greater part of me wants to lop your head off right here and now." He paused and the smug satisfaction in his voice came dripping through his words. "I know what they'll say when I get there with you. They'll try to convince me it's not right to kill you. That's what you're banking on, isn't it? Even if you give away every little detail and aren't of any use anymore, they'll say it's not the way of a Shinigami to kill an unarmed man, a non-combatant." He reached down and hauled his father to his feet, holding him so that the tips of his toes just touched the ground. "But you've been my enemy from the very beginning. You _are_ my combatant. And just because you don't have the kind of weapon everyone can see, that doesn't mean you're unarmed." He drew him close. "Mark my words, when this is over, you're going to die." A pause. "And if Yumichika comes to any harm—_any harm!_—you'll be wishing it was a quick death."

* * *

A thin shard of light fell across Yumichika's closed eyes.

Was it morning already?

He shifted to get out of the ray's direct beam, but he could tell from the diffused light penetrating his eyelids that it was, indeed, morning.

He had actually slept well this time, and now he was famished. He wondered if breakfast had already arrived. Peeking one eye open, he saw Savo still lying in bed asleep. That meant no breakfast yet.

Yumichika pushed up onto his right elbow. He was lying in a bunk set back into the wall of the cabin. The bunk was about three feet off the floor and had two wooden beams running perpendicular to it and flush against the edge of opening. Each beam had an iron ring for fixing shackles, and it was by means of short chains that Yumichika's hands and feet were affixed to the rings, allowing him some freedom of movement while keeping him secured.

All things considered, he was faring better than he'd anticipated.

Savo was clearly a man of means and an honored passenger, for he had a fine state room that, while not particularly large, was comfortable, handsomely decorated, and well-attended by the _Hamasho_'s crew. Every morning, noon and evening, fresh meals were brought. Fresh water was always on hand. There was a private toilet – nothing more than an open hole to the sea. And a fair-sized bathing tub was ready for filling, if so desired. The cabin even had a small window, which Yumichika noticed with despair, had been reinforced with iron bars.

Since coming aboard, Yumichika had been able to take a hand-bath daily, wash his hair, and even trade out his stained and torn work shift for a clean, if much over-sized robe-type thing from Savo's wardrobe. He'd eaten well and shaken off the kinks and stiffness of his trip to the port.

Yesterday had marked one week at sea, and Savo had noted that they were making good time, and the crew was optimistic that passage would be on schedule. Then again, the sea was capricious and mercurial.

Yumichika had passed the first week in quiet complaisance. As long as he was shackled, he had no chance of escaping; and so his strategy, meager as it was, was to get Savo to lower his guard and agree to unchain him. Surely, Savo would not expect him to attempt an escape at sea. Where would he go? It was true that using shunpo over large bodies of water was a skill very few Shinigami ever attained. After all, shunpo was a speed move, requiring a solid surface from which to launch. But the greatest masters of the movement could launch from thin air and ricochet off the surface of the water.

Yumichika could do both.

The leg manacles might cause a problem, but he could probably manage, although any mistake would result in him drowning in the sea, dragged down by the weight of the manacles.

However, as long as he was chained to a solid object, he had no chance of escape. He had to ease Savo into the idea that it would be safe to unchain him and then all he needed to do was get someplace where he had access to the upper decks.

But Savo was nothing if not thorough. He never left Yumichika unattended. If he had to go conduct business somewhere on the ship or if he just needed to stretch his legs, he would bring Rolovan in from his own lesser cabin and have him watch Yumichika until he returned. He was careful never to get too close to Yumichika in any situation where the chains, however short, could be used against him, not unless he had others present to help out in case Yumichika tried anything. He had placed a single chair and small table, a ceramic wash basin and pitcher beside Yumichika's bunk.

Yumichika had caused him no problems, had gone along with every word but without appearing too eager to please, for he knew Savo was clever enough to recognize pretense. Instead, he gave his best effort to appear as if he were despairingly resigned to his fate.

Now, as he waited for Savo to wake up and breakfast to arrive, he put his legs over the side of the bunk. The chains clattered as they slid to the floor. But Savo did not stir.

He poured some water into the basin and splashed it on his face.

Despite having slept well, he was still tired. It was amazing how exhausting inactivity was, and when compiled with worry, it was close to debilitating. And Yumichika had it _good._ He could only imagine what life was like right now for those on the slave decks. How many had already died? How many were sick and hungry? How many children were wondering if they'd ever see their parents again? How many of them even knew their parents . . . some of the children had looked like street rats.

Yumichika thought of his own parents. What would they have done if he'd been stolen away from them?

Of course, no one would have wanted him . . . not as he was in the world of the living. His only value had been to his family . . .

"Ikkaku." The whispered word came unplanned from his lips. Ikkaku was the only family he had here in Soul Society. _"He must be frantic. I wonder if he knows his father is part of this." _Somehow, the idea of Ikkaku worrying about him, searching for him, panic-stricken, was more agonizing than considering his own fate. _"I have to find a way out of this."_

Another hour passed, and then came a knock at the door. It was Rolovan, there to wake his master. Thirty minutes later, breakfast arrived. Rolovan brought a tray over and set it down on Yumichika's table.

"You're looking better every day," Rolovan commented. "Life of luxury, eh?"

Yumichika ignored him and dove into the meal.

"If nothing else, you certainly have regained your appetite," Rolovan grinned. He returned to where Savo was taking his seat at the main table.

"How is the merchandise weathering the trip?" Savo asked, placing the napkin over his lap.

"Well," Rolovan replied, taking a seat opposite him and helping himself to the carafe of coffee. "We haven't lost any. None are ill. No seasickness." He poured a drop of liquefied sugar into the cup. "The little one is proving to be difficult. She cries a lot, and she's too tiny to fit any of the shackles."

"What about the one I assigned to watch her?" Savo asked.

"There's nothing she can do. She's still a child herself," Rolovan replied. "The slave decks are no place for a baby."

"Oh, very well. I know what you're suggesting. Fine, bring the baby up here. She can stay with him," Savo conceded.

Yumichika swallowed down the mouthful of food without chewing. "What? A baby? You can't—I don't know anything about taking care of a baby!"

"You don't have to do anything," Savo said, waving his hand. "We just need to get the little beast out of the slave decks before she drives everyone crazy and the guards throw her overboard." He popped a kumquat into his mouth. "I've got a client whose specialty is dealing in babies. I'm not about to lose that profit. You've got plenty of room in that bunk. She can sleep with you."

"But—but—how could you steal someone's baby?" Yumichika blurted out. "That's—that's the—that's the most despicable thing a person could ever do!"

"What makes you think I stole her? Has it never occurred to you that there are people willing to sell their own children? Now stop fussing. The decision is made," Savo said without a hint of concern in his voice. "She'll be staying in the room for the rest of the voyage. Quiet down and eat your breakfast."

Yumichika continued to look back and forth between the two men for several seconds, but they carried on as if he were not even in the room.

He felt a stone in the pit of his stomach. There really was no prevailing upon them.

After breakfast, Rolovan departed to retrieve the child from the slave decks.

"What makes you think she'll be any happier up here?" Yumichika asked Savo the moment Rolovan stepped out the door.

"I don't know if she'll be happier or not," Savo shrugged, getting up from the table. "But this is a much more pleasant environment than the slave decks." He sniggered to himself. "Besides, I'm sure you'll find ways to keep her entertained. Otherwise, neither of us will get any sleep. If that happens, you'll be exhausted and worn out. You'll look terrible, and that might cost you getting into one of the finer households. So, it behooves you to do everything you can to keep the little thing happy. You don't want to end up in a pay-house."

Only ten minutes passed before Rolovan returned. He had the little girl with him. He was not carrying her. Instead, he held her by the back of her collar, using the tips of his fingers only, as if he were being forced to carry some rotting piece of meat.

"Unh, I was loathe to put my hands on her, filthy little beast," he said, drawing his lips back in an expression of disgust. "Are you sure you want her up here? She reeks. She's soiled herself, her hair is full of—ugh, I don't even want to guess what it is. Look at her. She's truly vile."

Savo was unmoved. "Yumichika will clean her up," he said. "After all, she'll need to be presentable when we visit Jubavi."

Rolovan scuttered the child across the room and shoved her at Yumichika, who was sitting on the edge of his bunk. "I'm going back topside," he announced. "The captain said we might be encountering some rough weather ahead a week. Another ship, coming westbound, showed flags this morning." He was referring to the various flags ships used to communicate with each other across passing distances. "I'll get an update and come back."

Yumichika sat looking at the child, who, now that she was standing there before him, silent and dumb-looking, appeared to be at least three years old. She was unbound and caked head to foot with filth. Some of it was dirt, and some of it—Yumichika was sure—was excrement. She wore a rough smock, stained and torn. Her feet were bare. Rolovan had been right: the child was rank. Little wonder.

"What—what am I supposed to do with her?" Yumichika asked, sounding alarmed.

"Clean her up," Savo replied as he continued to dress.

Yumichika looked the child up and down once.

"I'm going to need more than this little basin and jug of water," he said. "This job requires the use of your tub."

"My _tub?_ No, no, that's not a possibility."

"Look at her," Yumichika persisted. "She's disgusting. This job is bigger than a jug of water."

Savo groaned, but he did not look as put-off as he sounded. "I would have to unchain you from the posts for that."

"The shackles will still be on," Yumichika replied. "Call in as many guards as you like to keep an eye on me. I won't try to escape. I just don't want to sleep next to something this . . . foul."

Savo simpered. "You are a fastidious creature, aren't you? Very well. But I _will_ bring others in help watch you." He walked to the door, looked out into the passageway, and called out for anyone within earshot. Not only would he need help watching Yumichika, but he needed assistance bringing water for the tub.

Thirty minutes later, the tub was eight inches deep with warm water, and no less than six men were on-hand with Savo to stand watch. Two were ship servants, there to haul water. The other four were fellow slavers, and they'd not taken much convincing to recruit for the task. They all had heard that Savo was transporting a man of extraordinary beauty, and they were eager to get a look.

For Yumichika, it was humiliating. He felt as if he were on display, performing for an audience of lurid onlookers. He had no experience with children, and his actions were slow and measured. He didn't want to hurt her, but she was so begrimed that he felt as if he were scrubbing away varnish.

"Does it hurt?" he asked more than once, but he received no answer. The child only looked back at him through eyes the color of cinnamon.

As he washed away the filth, he was surprised to discover that her hair was sunflower yellow instead of brown. She had chubby cheeks and skin the color of clotted cream.

"What's your name?" Yumichika asked quietly, hoping his spectators wouldn't hear.

The child did not reply but instead put up a stubby finger and touched Yumichika's cheek. "Pretty."

The slavers cackled with laughter.

"She's got a good eye!"

"An' fer such a young age!"

"She probably thinks that's her mum!"

Yumichika felt his face burning, but he focused on his task.

"Pretty! Pretty!" The little girl continued to touch him. She giggled.

Yumichika suddenly found himself smiling despite the continued bawdy remarks and derisive laughter of the slavers. "Close your eyes," he said, then poured an urn of clean water over her head and shoulders. The water in the tub was black. The tub was bolted to the floor, and a drainage pipe disappeared below the floor and emptied out aft. Yumichika pulled the plug.

"What are you doing?" Savo demanded.

"We need clean water," Yumichika replied without looking at him. "I can't finish bathing her in water that was as dirty as a sewer."

"Do you think fresh water is so easily had here in the middle of the ocean?" one of the other slavers scoffed.

In a moment of cheek, Yumichika replied, "And what need do any of you have for water? Or food, for that matter? None of you have any spirit energy." None that he could detect, at least; but then again, his own ability to detect spirit energy was much reduced.

"Ho-hoo! He likes to be smart!"

Savo smiled. "Perhaps that was a little sassy. But he's right, so what argument can we give? We eat and drink because it suits us. There's enjoyment in it, even if it's not necessary to our survival." He looked to the two servants. "Fill the tub again."

Yumichika finished the job, convincing Savo to leave some fresh water in the tub for soaking the child's smock. He wrapped her in a towel and, under close scrutiny, walked back to his bunk and sat the child on his knee. He began using his fingers to untangle the knotted hair. Savo went over and reattached the chains.

"Well, gentlemen, I thank you for assistance. Show's over now. I hope you got in your fair share of leering," he said imperiously.

"Eh, don't rub it in, Savo," one of the slavers grinned. "He may end up being more trouble than he's worth when it's all done."

"A risk I'm willing to take, my friend. A risk I'm willing to take."

The room emptied out, and Savo turned with satisfaction towards Yumichika. "I will be the envy of every slaver known to the four winds."

Yumichika was silent. He had given the child a sweet roll, a piece of the remains of his breakfast, to keep her occupied as he worked on her hair, which was proving more difficult than he'd imagined.

"She seems to like you," Savo remarked.

And still, Yumichika had no response.

Savo shrugged. "Just keep her happy, and the next two weeks will go by quickly."

Yumichika glanced up furtively at him as the slaver sat down at the built-in desk and began looking through some papers. He slid the fork off the breakfast tray and hid it under the bed sheets.

A plan was formulating in his mind.

* * *

"Captain, someone's here to see you."

Juushiro Ukitake sat up slowly in bed. The time piece on the floor beside him indicated it was just after three o'clock in the morning.

"Rukia?" He called out to his newest lieutenant. It was she who had woken him with the announcement that someone wanted to see him. "Who is it?"

"Ikkaku Madarame," she replied through the door. "And he has someone with him."

"_Madarame? What would he be doing here? And she said someone is with him. If it were Ayasegawa, she would have said so."_

He got out of the bed. "Give me one minute."

* * *

Yumichika could already feel the swell of the waves.

Five days after seeing the warning flag from the west-bound ship, the _Hamasho_ was approaching the weather.

"The ride's about to get rough," Savo announced. He'd gone up topside, leaving Rolovan to watch over Yumichika and the child. Now, he returned, and despite his news, he did not appear worried. "Rolovan, you should get back to your cabin and make sure everything is secure. Lustice—" referring to the ship's captain, "—is going to try to skim the edge, but it looks very wide. I don't see how it can be avoided."

Rolovan nodded. He headed for the door. "Hopefully, we won't lose any cargo."

Savo began securing any loose items. He pointed a finger at Yumichika. "You'd better keep her close to you and stay wedged in there."

Yumichika actually felt anxious. "Do you think it will be that bad?"

"It will be rough," Savo shrugged.

"What if the ship goes down?"

"Goes down?"

"Yes? If I'm chained here, how will I get out?"

Savo laughed. "If the ship goes down, we will all perish. But it would have to be an extremely violent storm to send this ship to the bottom. This is one of the finest vessels ever built."

"I guess the slave trade pays well," Yumichika said, not attempting to disguise the derision in his voice.

But it had no impact on Savo. "Extremely well. But even so, the sea doesn't care about the value of a cargo. Slave ships sink just like any other ship. This ship is just designed and constructed better than others. Still, it's going to get ugly, especially if he can't get to the edge and skirt it. I hope you don't get sick. I hope she doesn't get sick. I hate the smell of vomit."

The little girl—Yumichika had taken to calling her "Sweetie"—was standing on the wide bank below the window. She was not considered a flight risk, so she was never restrained. And since coming to Savo's cabin, she had not cried or thrown a tantrum. She spent most of the day at Yumichika's side, insisting in her limited way, that he play games with her. From time to time, she would roam about the cabin while Savo kept a sideways eye on her. At night, she slept with Yumichika, who found it strangely comforting to have someone to look after.

He had another reason for being happy to have her with him. She slept on the outside of the bunk, doing a good job of obscuring that which Yumichika wished to keep hidden. Yumichika had discovered very soon after being shackled that the manacles, though they might be the narrowest pair available, were just wide enough for him to slide his hands through. If he could free his ankles, he stood a good chance of escape. Savo slept like a rock, so it would not be too difficult to sneak past him at night. And if he were able to get into the open, he could use shunpo to cross the ocean. He had been using the fork he'd pilfered to work on bending one chain link just enough to break free, and he was very close to success. Of course, if the ship encountered angry seas, he would have to wait until the danger was past.

"Have you been through many storms?" Yumichika asked, feigning interest.

"Many, many dozens," Savo replied. "I've been in this line of business for almost two hundred years. I've made thousands of voyages. A man is bound to encounter a storm from time to time."

Yumichika played his part perfectly. "I have to admit, I'm nervous."

"Why be nervous? If we're all meant to die, worrying won't change that."

"I suppose," Yumichika conceded.

"You just focus on keeping her safe. It will give you something to think about other than the storm."

Yumichika spared him only a glance, and silently sneered, _"Oh, believe me, the storm is the _last _of my concerns."_

Until they sailed into it.

Since that first warning five days earlier, the captain had actually done a good job of veering south in an attempt to flank the storm. He'd come within fifteen miles of the leading edge, but as the winds picked up, it became impossible to continue in a south-eastern direction under full sail. Already the troughs between the wave peaks had narrowed to three ship lengths, which the _Hamasho_ was riding easily for the moment, but that would not last long. She was running full ballast portside in order to offset the wind push, and still the leeward roll was approaching the mid-decks.

Savo had been topside when Captain Lustice, a man not given to risk-taking, had given the order to prepare to go ahull. Once the roll reached the gunwhales, the sails would be furled and the helm locked alee. Then, it would simply be a question of riding the storm out.

And as Savo had proclaimed, it was, indeed, a rough ride – one that Yumichika quickly decided he never wanted to do again.

For three days, the _Hamasho_ pitched and rolled and reared and crashed through what Savo euphemistically called "an angry sea." To Yumichika, it was a furious sea, a vengeful sea, a sea intent upon shaking this little bobbing cork into pieces upon its white, spraying, foaming, violent surface.

Water crept in, then poured in, then crept again. Through the window, under the door from passageway outside, from the ceiling. Soon, Savo's stateroom and almost everything in it was wet. Everything that wasn't nailed down or otherwise secured went flying with every rocking of the ship.

Savo had a cushioned chair that was bolted to the floor on the inward facing wall, and this was where he stayed most of the time, seemingly bored with the goings-on and occasionally wondering out loud how the rest of the ship's passengers were faring.

Yumichika had kept to the bunk. He'd moved Sweetie to the inside to protect her as much as possible from the water and the various flying objects. At night, in the darkness—for it was not permitted to light any lanterns under the current conditions—he had finally succeeded in bending the link of metal chain, so that now, if the ship did begin to capsize, he at least had a chance at getting out. A dim chance, but that was better than none at all.

Beside him, Sweetie appeared little disturbed, other than the that fact that she did not like being wet. She stayed huddled close and passed the time playing with Yumichika's hair or telling the sort of completely unintelligible stories that only a three-year-old could concoct, the sort of story meant only for the story-teller with an occasional appeal to the listener for acknowledgment.

Yumichika envied her in a wry way. She was too young to realize the danger they were in; and the movement of the ship, rather than frightening her, made her laugh and coo.

And then, on the afternoon of the fourth day, Yumichika noticed that the ship was rolling less and less. The sounds of things crashing in the passageway and overhead stopped. Through the window, Yumichika could just barely discern patches of blue sky.

Savo stood up from his chair into water that was still ankle-deep. "I say, the worst seems to be past. I supposed I'd better go check the damage—"

Just as he finished speaking, a knock came at the door.

"Master?! Master Savo?"

It was Rolovan's voice.

Savo trudged through the water, which was already seeping away through the side and floor drains. He opened the door, and Rolovan breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"I'm glad to see you're alright," the apprentice said.

"Of course, I am," Savo replied lightly. "That was far from the worst storm I've ever been through. Even you've weathered meaner ones than that."

"Master . . ." Rolovan's relief was promptly replaced by anxiety. "I heard the slave decks were swamped. We may have lost a lot of our cargo."

Savo frowned. "I suppose I'd better go take a look. You stay here and keep an eye on him."

Once Savo left the cabin, Rolovan moved over to the window to look outside. He cranked open the louvre and drew in a deep breath of salty air.

Yumichika might not have been the best judge of a man's sea legs, but to his eye, Rolovan appeared a bit unsteady, dealing with some frayed nerves. After a few seconds, the apprentice crossed over to the chair Savo had just vacated, flopped down in it, and closed his eyes.

"Are you going to be sick?" Yumichika asked, a certain snide satisfaction underpinning his tone.

"Shut up," came the curt reply.

Yumichika could hear men shouting out orders as the crew began the task of cleanup. It sounded like a fair deal of chaos.

And chaos was precisely what he needed. Neither Savo nor Rolovan had closed the cabin door, and Yumichika could see the passageway was filled with refuse and all manner of displaced objects.

He waited a minute, watching closely as Rolovan's head dipped and bobbed against his chest. When he was convinced the man was asleep, he slipped the manacles over his hands and drew the ankle shackles free of the chain through the opened link. He rolled Sweetie over the top of him and set her down on the floor. Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, "Go play," as he pointed to the open door. "Play hide. I'll find you." Then he put his finger to his lips.

Whether Sweetie understood him or not, she clearly knew that he wanted her to go through the door.

Yumichika watched her move silently across the room and out into the passageway. She ducked under some large obstruction that he could not quite make out, and was gone from view. Now, he had to wait.

But not too long. He could only hope that Sweetie was able to pick her way a reasonable distance and that she understood the meaning of the word "hide."

He began to grow tense. This might be his only chance, while the ship was still topsy-turvy after the storm.

"Rolovan!" he called out urgently. "Rolovan!"

Rolovan was awake on the instant and trying to act as if he'd not fallen asleep. "What do you want?!" he snapped.

"She's gone!"

"What—how can she be gone?"

"She must have snuck out while you were sleeping," Yumichika said accusatively.

"You were supposed to be watching her! How did she get away from you?" Rolovan demanded.

"Maybe I fell asleep, too," Yumichika sneered. "Or maybe I just want to see Savo's face when he finds out you've lost her."

Rolovan glowered at him. He made one quick check of the room then headed out into the passageway.

Yumichika waited half a minute then scooted out of the bunk. The shackles around his ankles made a clunk as they hit the floor, but as he glided stealthily to the door, the sound of the iron against the wooden floor was muffled beneath the still draining water. The chain connecting the shackles one to the other was only twelve inches long, so his footsteps were short and clumsy. He almost fell several times before getting to the door.

But now here he was peering across the threshold into a dim passageway, the only light in which was filtering down from a top-hatch three decks above.

If he could get to that hatch, get out onto the open deck . . .

The passageway appeared to be empty. He did not hear Rolovan's voice. He ducked under a large sea locker that had become dislodged during the storm and was now athwart the passage. On the other side, the passageway stretched the entire length of the ship, and Yumichika could see the shadowy figures of people at the other end, but they seemed to take no notice of him.

Climbing the ladder would be troublesome in the shackles, so he used flashstep to get to the top of the first and second ladders. On each deck, there was plenty of activity, and no one was inclined to pay him any mind.

He was now one deck below topside. He could be out and free in the blink of an eye.

He gripped the sides of the ladder, as if to propel himself upward; but instead, his head sunk against his chest and a sound of frustration rumbled in his throat.

"_Don't be an idiot,"_ he said silently. _"This is your only chance."_

But he couldn't do it. He couldn't make the last leap up to freedom.

He could not leave without Sweetie.

He'd used her to distract Rolovan, and now he could not leave her behind. He just couldn't.

And even it cost him his chance to escape, he would not choose to be so heartless and callous.

Instead of heading up, he went down.

He returned to the deck where Savo's stateroom was, and whispered fiercely, "Sweetie?!"

It was absurd. She would never hear him above all the other competing sounds. He raised his voice. "Sweetie! Come out!" He headed toward the bow of the ship, surprised when two men, rushing out of a sidedoor, hurried past him without a second glance. He was coming upon another set of ladders, these ones leading to the lower decks; and from here, there came the sound of much mayhem.

He was about to skirt around the opening when he heard an unmistakable giggle nearby.

"Sweetie?!" he called out, turning.

She leaped out of the shadow cast by one of the ship's vertical supporting beams and straight into his arms.

Yumichika did not even allow himself to feel his relief at finding her. There was no time to waste. He began shuffling back towards the ladders to the upper decks when he heard Savo's voice come billowing down the passageway.

"Nooo! Where is he?! Where is he?!" He sounded both aghast and furious at the same time. "Rolovan! Damn!"

At that moment, Savo appeared from beneath the sea locker and stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Yumichika standing with Sweetie in his arms in the middle of the passageway.

"Stop him!" He shouted suddenly, running forward. "Someone! Help me stop him! Don't let him get away!"

Yumichika could not make it to the upward ladders now, so he turned and used a short burst of flashstep to get to the ladders leading to the lower decks. The deck immediately below was completely blocked in one direction where dozens of crates had shifted during the storm and now lay obstructing the passageway. In the other direction, towards the bow, the passageway was shorter and seemed, in the darkness, to come to a dead-end.

Yumichika went one deck lower, and here he had a straight shot along a passageway leading astern. He made two short flashstep movements, and when he stopped, he saw another ladder ahead. It was heading upwards. But just as he started to make for it, men began coming down it. When the first two got to the bottom and began to head up the passageway, they both stopped and looked at Yumichika in surprise.

"Ai, ye wa's got loose?" one half-inquired, half-stated.

"Bes' we take 'er back 'lowdecks," the second said.

"Ain't no 'er. S'a man, if'n I knows." This came from the third as he came off the ladder.

"S'ee goits baby," the second man pointed out. "Go oin, ai? Take 'ems 'lowdecks."

Yumichika did not wait to see what they would do. He turned and flashstepped back to the other set of ladders and went down to the next level.

And here he stopped.

He had come to the slave decks.

On this level, there were no passageways. It was a single deck from bow to stern. Running from port to starboard were row after row of raised wooden platforms, about two and half feet high, six feet wide by six feet square. Sitting and lying on top of the platforms were hundreds of women and children.

Affixed along the base of each platform were sets of chains and these were attached to the ankle shackles worn by each slave. Their wrists were also shackled but not attached to any chains. So, like Yumichika, they had limited movement but could not venture further than the length of the chains would allow; and the chains were, at most, perhaps a yard long.

The floor between the platforms had gullies running down the centers, which were used as urine and excrement ditches. Yumichika did not know, but the gullies were normally flushed with seawater hauled in by the slaves themselves. But at this moment, after the past three days of violent weather, the entire place was covered with the fetid contents of gullies that had not been cleared in the bowels of a ship that had been tossed around like a leave on the wind.

The stench was horrific, but it could not overwhelm the scene itself.

Never before had Yumichika seen such a concentrated mass of squalor. These souls were barely recognizable as human. The sound of children screaming and women crying was bad enough, but the sight of lifeless, staring eyes in the faces of both women and children sent Yumichika backing absently towards the wall behind him. How many had died down here?

In his arms, Sweetie was silent. She kept her head turned away from the sight.

Suddenly, there was a man beside him. "Ai, 'nother one broke free'n?"

Yumichika lurched away as the man reached out for him.

"You'n . . . a man? You'n the wrong deck. Leav 'un little one 'ere. I'n take ya below."

"Stop him! That slave belongs to me! Stop him!"

From the aft entrance onto the deck, Savo shouted his orders. Rolovan and two other men Yumichika recognized were with him.

Yumichika jerked towards the ladder to head back up, but there were other men coming down. The man beside him stretched out an arm as Yumichika attempted to go past him towards the bow of the ship, but he was unable to grab him. Instead, his fingers closed around Sweetie's arm and she was yanked from Yumichika's hold by the momentum of his own movement.

Immediately, Yumichika turned to try and snatch her back. Instinctively, his Hakuda training took over, and he dealt the man a resounding blow to the ribs, then as he doubled over, he brought his elbow down on the back of his skull. The man dropped to the deck.

Yumichika picked up Sweetie, flashstepped over the rancid human cargo to the opposite side of the deck, and dropped down through the ladder opening on that side.

As he landed, he slipped and found himself splashing about for a moment in a watery concoction. He got quickly to his feet and lifted Sweetie out of the water. Now that he was standing, he saw the water came halfway up his thighs. He was standing on a ledge of some sort, and directly level with his chest was a metal grating. The ledge on which he was standing was actually along the inner hull of the ship, under the bilge water. The grating stood about three feet above the level of the water.

"Up! Up you go!" Yumichika said urgently, thrusting Sweetie up on top of the grating. Then he pulled himself up and once again froze in place.

This was the other slave deck. The one for men.

In the bilge.

In most respects it was identical to the women's deck above, except that it had no wooden floor. The metal grate upon which Yumichika was now standing was the floor. Below it, the bilge water sloshed back and forth.

A number of the men who were close by were staring at him.

Yumichika felt Sweetie reaching up to him, but before he could pick her up, he found himself lying face-down against the grating, a heavy weight pressing down on his back.

One of the keepers of the slave decks had jumped down through the same open hole through which Yumichika had come. He held Yumichika against the grate, while two more men came down. They were followed shortly by Savo, Rolovan, Crampus and Keppy.

The man on Yumichika's back stood up and hauled him to his feet.

"Dis the one?"

"Yes, yes, well done! You've earned something for your trouble," Savo said, and he sounded both relieved and angry. "I will send something down with my assistant later on." He approached Yumichika and stared him in the eye. "You had to try to escape, didn't you?" It sounded like a lament or an apology, filled with regret. "Not only that, but you had to try and take my other most valuable property with you." A pause. "Look around you. Look, look! I told you, you didn't want to be on the slave decks, but now I think this is what you have earned."

Savo looked to the deck keepers. "Find a place for him."

"Some 'as dead now, gon' throw 'em out. 'E 'an 'ave them spots."

"Perfect. Now, get him out of my sight."

Yumichika fought them uselessly as they led him away, and Sweetie began howling as she tried to follow and was rebuffed by the keepers.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Rolovan turned to Savo. "You're not really going to keep him down here, are you?"

"A few hours will put the scare in him. Stay here and watch him like a hawk. I don't want any harm coming to him," Savo replied. "When you think he's had enough, bring him back up."

"What about her?" Rolovan asked, looking hatefully at Sweetie.

"She's coming with me," Savo replied. "You just do what you can to make sure he's anxious to get out of here and back to the cabin."

As Savo left, Rolovan grimaced.

"_No one's going to be more anxious to get out of here than me."_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Dear Reader, I am reposting this chapter because of "sectional" errors. Basically, the dividing lines didn't go where I wanted them to! Operator error! No content change, so no need to re-read. Enjoy! Peace, TK**_

* * *

Chapter 7 The Head Captain's Decision

"_I know you're out there somewhere.  
__I know I'll find you somehow.  
__And somehow, I'll return again to you."_

_I Know You're Out There Somewhere  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

"Let me make sure I understand this correctly," Captain Ukitake said, sounding as if he himself needed convincing. "This man is your father, and you say he sold Ayasegawa into slavery?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Ikkaku confirmed.

Ukitake turned to his lieutenant. "Rukia, would you go find Captain Kyoraku and tell him to come here. " Then, as Lieutenant Kuchiki turned to leave, he added, "And keep this quiet." He looked back at the stranger. "What is your name?"

"Totui Madarame."

"And is what he says true?"

Totui Madarame was nothing if not a good actor. He affected the demeanor of a wounded heart. "It's true that I'm his father. The rest of that story—I don't know why he would want to make up something like that. I would never hurt Yumichika."

Ikkaku flinched, but Juushiro held out his hand to stay him.

"So, you deny selling Ayasegawa into slavery," the Squad Thirteen Captain said, and it was clear from his inflection that the "wounded heart" pretense was not fooling him.

"Deny it? Of course, I deny it! I've never had anything to with the slave trade—"

This time, Ikkaku was too quick for Ukitake's rebuke. He grabbed his father by the neck of his garment and drove him back against the wall. "You _told_ me you did it! You admitted it! You—you bastard—you fucking bragged about it!" He slammed his head against the bamboo posting then came face-to-face in a menacing storm of fury. "Your games are finally over. Go ahead and lie to him . . . that gives me even more reason to just kill you where you stand."

"Madarame." Captain Ukitake's voice commanded gentle authority.

Ikkaku released his father and took a step back.

Totui rubbed the back of his head. "Violent as ever . . . "

Juushiro ignored the comment. "You knew Ayasegawa?"

Totui nodded and continued making a great show of concern over his head. "We all lived together in the same village before Ikkaku became a Shinigami—"

"You tracked me to Venla for the sole purpose of ruining my life, just like you did in the living world!" Ikkaku spat. "And when you failed the first time, you came back to try and finish the job!"

"Ikkaku—son—what is this all about? You're talking nonsense. I adored Yumichi—"

Before Ikkaku could stop himself, he'd drawn back his fist and laid Totui out on the floor.

Captain Ukitake looked down at the man, but he remained standing where he was.

"That wasn't the wisest thing to do," he chastised.

"I know," Ikkaku said through grit teeth. "But you don't understand, Captain Ukitake. This man—I hate this man more than . . . " He thought of Hinsamoi. "There might be only one man I hate more than I hate him. And believe me, he wasn't lying when he told me had given Yumichika over to slavers."

"But why would he do such a thing?" Juushiro asked.

"That's a long explanation," Ikkaku grimaced, and his impatience was beginning to show. "But I know it's true. I know he was telling me the truth, and I know he wants me to find Yumichika . . . eventually. He wants me to find him so I can see how much he's had to suffer." The ire was bubbling to the surface in every syllable. "And he wants me to blame myself. Well, not this time. This time, he's the one who's going to suffer."

Captain Ukitake regarded Ikkaku in silent appraisal. He knew he was looking at a cauldron of rage that was one degree short of exploding. And yet, that was the least of his worries. If it were true—and there was no reason to think Madarame was lying—then Ayasegawa was now missing, moving through some cog in the monstrous and bloated apparatus that was the slave trade. Not a good situation for a man who was supposed to be under regular surveillance.

"Why did you bring him here?" Juushiro asked.

"Because I need help," Ikkaku replied. "With the way things are now, it could take me years to find Yumichika." He was referring to the fact that Yumichika's spirit energy was barely detectable. "And I know—I know that you and Captain Kyoraku were keeping tabs on us the whole time we've been at Venla."

"Ohh . . . " Captain Kyoraku had just entered the room. "I guess we didn't hide it very well."

"You weren't even trying to," Ikkaku replied. "I figured you wanted us to know you were there. And I figured there had to be a reason you were watching us—watching Yumichika. And if he disappeared, you would want to know."

"And we would help you find him," Ukitake completed the progression of thought.

"So, what's this all about?" Shunsui asked. "I was enjoying the stars with a lady-friend, and suddenly, there's Kuchiki, all frantic and—believe me, not a pretty sight—and telling me that I'm needed right away, it's urgent . . . and I leave half a bottle and a pretty woman behind."

Captain Ukitake deferred to Ikkaku, who repeated the story. When he had finished, he capped it off with, "I came here for help finding him. I know nothing about the slave trade. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"So, Hoozukimaru is missing, too?"

"I searched everywhere for him," Ikkaku replied. "When I last communicated with him, he knew he was in someone else's possession. He just couldn't tell me who or where or . . . this is all so . . . messed up. And the longer I wait, the harder it will be to find them both!"

"We'd better go see the head captain," Juushiro announced.

"I think you're right," Shunsui agreed.

Ikkaku looked at them with expectation in his eyes. "Why the head captain? As squad captains, you could just order some of your own personnel to help—"

"You know better than that," Kyoraku corrected him. "We can't just take on unauthorized missions. That wouldn't go over well with the old man.  
Besides . . . this is something he needs to know about."

Captain Ukitake called for Lieutenant Kuchiki. "Take him to the holding cell and wait for us to return."

"Oh no, he's not leaving my sight—" Ikkaku began.

"Well, he's unconscious, and even if he weren't, he's not coming with us to see the head captain," Kyoraku said, adding a bit under his breath, "Although the head captain might end up coming to see him."

They walked out into the warm summer night.

Ikkaku did not hesitate one second. "Why have you two been spying on me and Yumichika all these years? There's something going on that I don't know about, isn't there?"

"What? Knowing that Ayasegawa's zanpakuto can bring the dead back to life isn't a big enough secret for you?" Shunsui quipped, although there was a certain subtle warning that seemed to imply that the less Ikkaku knew, the better. "You want to know if there's more?"

"There has to be more," Ikkaku answered, ignoring the warning. "Otherwise, you two wouldn't have been dispatched to keep an eye on him."

"Him? You're sure it wasn't you we were watching?" Kyoraku challenged, but Ukitake cut them both off in his usual blunt, no-nonsense way.

"We _were_ keeping an eye on him," he admitted. "The head captain ordered us to do so. If he wants to disclose his reasons, he will. Otherwise, you're better off not asking." He sighed. "But I have a feeling, when he hears this, you're not going to have to ask."

* * *

Savo had been right. Savo had been . . . more than right. He'd been prescient.

Yumichika did not want to be on the slave decks.

He might even end up begging for deliverance before much more time elapsed.

The moment Savo had left the men's deck, Rolovan had personally taken charge of finding a place for his rebellious charge. He had not forgotten Yumichika's taunt in the state room—"_maybe I just want to see Savo's face when he finds out you've lost her"_—and he intended to return the insult in kind. No one made a fool of him in front of his master.

Leaving Yumichika in the custody of two deck keepers, he took two more and made his way towards the narrowing bow of the ship, his shoes slipping on the waste-encrusted grating from time to time. In the second row there were only three platforms. The platform on near side had four men chained to it. One was dead.

"Here. Put him here," Rolovan ordered. "Go tell the others to bring him."

One keeper headed back, while the other began to unchain the dead man's fetters. He was about to pull him off the platform, but Rolovan stopped him. "Leave him here. He'll make good company."

"Oi, but e's dead'n! An 'is tight fit," the keeper protested.

Rolovan grinned. "That's okay. The merchandise needs to get used to being in such intimate contact with strangers. No, no, don't clean it. Put the bucket down. It's perfect as it is."

The other three keepers returned with Yumichika between them. His wrists had been shackled again. When Rolovan saw this, he shook his head. "Oh no, that won't do. You just slipped right out them last time." To one of the keepers, "Bring me rope." He nodded to the other three. "Chain him."

Yumichika was pushed down to sit on the edge of the platform.

The other three living men on the platform watched as the keepers ran the floor chains around the shackle chain still binding Yumichika's ankles.

"This—this man is dead," Yumichika pointed out, sounding more distressed than he'd intended. Death itself did not make him squeamish. After all, he'd seen much of it as a Shinigami – and even before becoming a Shinigami. He had dealt out death and watched others do the same. But there was something to be said for the manner of death, the dignity of death. And none of that was to be found here inside the rancid hull of a demon ship. As he was pushed down on his back and his wrists bound in front of him, he could smell—he could . . . sense!—the dead body beside him. Why—why the hell hadn't the body dissipated and the soul moved on? How long had the man been dead?

"After a week, you'll be well acquainted with him, I dare say," Rolovan chirped.

Yumichika closed his eyes and drew in a deep, wavering breath to slow his racing thoughts.

"This one is tricky," Rolovan warned the keepers. He stood on the grating at Yumichika's head. The platform behind him had a couple vacancies, so the chains were not being used. "Bring his arms up—yes, up over his head—just like that. You can use these chains—" Rolovan would only give instructions, for there was no way he was going to touch the chains, slickened during the ship's tumultuous journey through the storm. "Just put them through here, right above the rope—yes, it's tight, you have to push—good god, are you afraid to be rough with a slave? Here, just yank it through."

The chain was squeezed between Yumichika's forearms and wrapped around the rope binding his wrists. Two more loops, and it was then secured to the base of the platform behind him, so that his arms were stretched over his head, and he could not sit up. The chain at his feet had perhaps 18 inches of slack – no more.

Rolovan leaned over with a deviously amiable grin and pat his cheek. "I hope you enjoy your new accommodations." Then he straightened up and was gone.

Yumichika lay in the foul twilight of the slave deck. All around him were the sounds of groaning, cursing, even crying. The stench was inescapable. A rank heat had him dripping in sweat within seconds. The air was close and fetid.

The man to his left—he'd not bothered to get a good look at him—had lain back down and was facing towards him. Yumichika could feel his stare, but he kept his own eyes closed and tried to ignore the discomfort. On his right, on the other side of the dead man, the other two men had not moved or spoken.

Perhaps, with any luck, they were simply disinterested.

But with the way his luck had been turning so far, Yumichika held out little hope of a reprieve.

* * *

Head Captain Yamamoto listened to the entire report without speaking a word. And even after the whole sordid story was unraveled, he sat for many minutes in silent contemplation.

It was an uncomfortable situation for the two squad captains and the former third seat. They found themselves standing before their commander, the first two wondering if they were going to get their heads bitten off for dereliction of duty, the latter wondering what kind of help, if any, could he expect from the organization of which he had been a loyal member for a long time.

At last, Yamamoto spoke with rumbling gravity. "This presents a problem. He must be retrieved."

Ikkaku's breath trailed out of him in a sigh of relief, but Yamamoto's continued conversation sent that relief evaporating like summer morning mist.

"Is it for certain that he was only given over to the slave trade?"

"His father denies it," Juushiro replied. "We can't confirm anything yet."

"What do you mean, '_only'_?" Ikkaku fumed. "There's nothing '_only'_ about the slave trade."

"If he falls into the hands of slavers, that presents one kind of problem," Yamamoto said in a voice that carried a hint of _'don't challenge me'_ in it. "But if he is being turned over to . . . ambitious souls for unscrupulous reasons, that is another matter altogether."

"What—what—" Ikkaku looked from Ukitake to Kyoraku and back to the head captain. "What are you talking about?"

"He doesn't know?" Yamamoto asked.

"We've never told him. You told us to keep it secret," Shunsui answered. "So, if he does know, it's not from us."

"Know what?" Ikkaku was at the limit of his patience. "Stop the bull-shitting around, and tell me what's going on! Why have you been spying on me and Yumichika since we left here?! Why are you acting like there's something that could happen to him that's worse than being taken as a slave? What the hell is going on?!"

Captain Ukitake drew in a deep breath. "It's time he knows the whole story, Head Captain," he said. "He's the only one, really, who stands between Ayasegawa and anyone who would want to use him."

"Use him for what?" Ikkaku demanded.

"Silence!" Yamamoto ordered. After several seconds, he said, "I agree he must know." He doleful eyes fell on Ikkaku. "You have heard of the Atmens?"

Ikkaku had not been expecting the question, and for a moment, he was too flabbergasted to answer. At last, he stammered, "Yeah. Every—everyone has heard of them. They just . . . old wives' tales."

"I assure you, they are quite real," Yamamoto corrected. "Just because you have not encountered one does not mean they don't exist." He let the silence sink in. "And in fact, you _have_ met one. You lived right beside it for years."

Ikkaku stood dumbstruck. He already knew what the head captain was going to say, but he had to brace himself to hear it.

"Ayasegawa's zanpakuto is an Atmen."

There was dead silence in the room.

At length, the head captain continued. "Atmens are highly coveted. There are many people who, if they even suspect Ayasegawa has access to or possession of an Atmen, will stop at nothing to control him."

"But—but Ruri'iro Kujaku is gone," Ikkaku said warily. When his statement was met with more silence, he asked, "Isn't he?"

Yamamoto replied in a gravelly voice. "We don't know. No Atmen has ever sacrificed itself for its master. But given the fact that there has been no indication over the past thirty years that Ruri'iro Kujaku still exists, it could very well be that he did give up his own existence to save Ayasegawa."

"The problem is we don't know that for sure," Shunsui put forth. "So the head captain had me and Juushiro keep an eye on Ayasegawa just in case someone else suspected he had an Atmen, or in case Ruri'iro Kujaku somehow . . . reconstituted himself."

"But the stories about the Atmens . . . they can't possibly have been true," Ikkaku protested.

"They're true," Juushiro assured him. "We've encountered a couple in our own time."

"Ayasegawa's zanpakuto was able to restore life," the head captain stated. "We never had the proof that it could create life, but there were enough indicators."

"So, you think it's possible . . . that Yumichika wasn't sold into slavery? That he was given to someone who knows he had an Atmen?" Ikkaku asked, his head spinning.

"It is possible, but I find it unlikely. We kept the truth about his zanpakuto well hidden," Yamamoto replied. "Of greater concern is the possibility that Ayasegawa, without any protection, could end up in the hands of a dangerous soul. Men like Heykibi would be more than happy to try and harness the power of an Atmen."

"But Heykibi hasn't been heard from since the explosion," Ikkaku pointed out.

"Which makes him all the more dangerous," Shunsui said.

"But maybe he was destroyed—"

"This isn't about just Heykibi," Yamamoto cut him off. "The point is there are a lot of dangerous and greedy villains who would stop at nothing to control an Atmen and its master. Ayasegawa must be retrieved and brought back to safety." A pause. "If your father told you the truth—and I believe he did, even though he then tried to deceive Shunsui and Juushiro—then we shall proceed on the assumption that Ayasegawa has been sold into slavery. And I know of only one flourishing market for slaves."

"The lower east," Shunsui put in.

"Some of Soul Society's largest districts," Juushiro sighed. "He may be hard to find."

"And getting him out won't be easy, either," Shunsui stated. "That whole land over there . . . the bedrock is almost entirely seki-seki rock. Spirit energy is useless—"

"And the region has been so neglected over the centuries by the Central 46 that it has grown quite wild, a kingdom unto itself," Yamamoto grunted. "But that is where we must begin our search. And we must do it without arousing suspicion. It will be necessary to send out feelers first."

"What do you mean?" Ikkaku asked, his spirits picking up at the prospect of immediate action.

"We must first _find _Ayasegawa," Yamamoto explained. "We must see what kind of situation he is in, the circumstances of his enslavement, if, in fact, he is enslaved. Then we will formulate a plan to get him out."

"Why—why can't we just go in with a couple squads and raid the whole place?" Ikkaku demanded foolishly.

"The _whole place_ is tens of thousands of square miles," Juushiro began. "It's going to take some undercover work to find out where he is. On top of that, don't forget what Shunsui just said: the fact that the whole place is made of seki-seki rock neutralizes a lot of our advantage as Shinigami. And lastly, I can't imagine Central 46 approving a raid of an entire zone just to find one former Shinigami."

"But if they know about the Atmen, they should want to find Yumichika as soon as possible . . . " Ikkaku's voice trailed off as he saw the expressions on the three captains' faces. "They don't know, do they?" he asked slowly. "They don't know you suspect Ruri'iro Kujaku is an Atmen."

The head captain took a moment before answering to consider his words. "No, they don't."

"But why?" Ikkaku asked.

Shunsui flashed him a warning gaze. "Ikkaku . . . "

But to his surprise, Head Captain Yamamoto took up the question. "It is no secret I have often questioned the wisdom of Central 46. It is no secret I have made many wrong decisions myself. But where I see the Atmen as creatures that could be embraced and possibly made into allies, Central 46 sees them only as threats." A pause. "And if you knew the power of their creations, you would understand why Central 46 fears them so greatly. For all experience has shown us, it may be a rational fear. But for my own part, I do not believe Central 46 has ever had any intention other than eliminating the Atmen. The Atmen's ability to create souls jeopardizes the balance between this world and the living world. At least, that is how Central 46 sees it." He closed his eyes, looking as if the conversation pained him somehow. "So, it would be impossible to send two entire squads to the lower east without arousing suspicion."

"What about the wide patrols? Couldn't they look for him?" Ikkaku pressed.

"That is not the function of a wide patrol," Yamamoto replied. "This will have to be handled carefully." He stood up from his chair. "I think the first order of business is for you to being Totui Madarame to me."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Dear Reader, There's some . . . weird stuff in this chapter. Maybe it's the Halloween spirit getting into me! Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Peace, TK**_

Chapter 8 The Madman

"_If you don't know the way,  
__If you can't see the wood for the trees,  
__Taste the wine from the water,  
__What should it matter to the fool or the dreamer."_

_Blue Guitar  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

It might have been the longest four hours in Yumichika's life.

It certainly felt that way.

Yumichika was not a fool. He never had been. Not really. He may have behaved foolishly on occasion, but that was not the same as being a fool.

And as someone who was not a fool, he knew that he was of such great value to Savo that the trader would not allow him to come to any serious harm. Savo himself had made no secret of what Yumichika was worth to him.

But clearly, the trader felt a lesson was in order, and this was where Yumichika's certainty ended.

Just how far was Savo willing to risk his prize?

The inhumane conditions on the slave decks were enough to test even the strongest man. Bodily, Yumichika knew he could survive. Even without Ruri'iro Kujaku's healing powers, Yumichika was resilient. His body has suffered and recovered from abuses in such a manner as to stun those who were witness to the atrocities; for they saw the slight, sinewy build of a diminutive man, and they were astounded at his ability to endure. There had even been times when Yumichika had stunned himself at his fortitude. And he would need that fortitude now.

But not for the physical encroachments.

No, it was the mental torment that accosted him through every sense, from every angle.

The sounds of agony and affliction never ended down here, and it was impossible to shut them out. The degradation of these souls was something Yumichika had never entertained as even being possible in Soul Society. The private hell of his own past aside, he'd not imagined that there was an entire industry organized towards the debasement of human souls. Thousands upon thousands of enslaved souls, with no regard to age or gender, rank or status, intellect or even fitness.

Slaves all.

For the first hour of his demotion to the slave decks, Yumichika had kept his eyes shut. He had made the decision immediately that this was something he must do. He must do it to keep from attracting attention to himself. He must do it to shut out the images of bondage and decay around him.

On his right, the dead man in his rags was rigid and waxen. If the corpse had begun to fester yet, Yumichika could not tell. The overwhelming stench of death was already a feature of the place. One more body would likely make no great difference. Before consigning himself to darkness, Yumichika had accidentally caught a look at the man's face. He had not been old at all. Ikkaku's age, perhaps. In his glimpse of the fixed, sightless eyes, Yumichika had gleaned the emptiness of a vessel without a soul. Dear God, why didn't the body just dissipate already?!

And yet, the dead man was preferable to the man on his left.

Here was disturbance beyond explanation.

The man had not stopped gibbering since Yumichika's arrival. And from the sound and tenor of his unintelligible words and, even without daring to take a glance at him, Yumichika could tell he was looking at him. From time to time, the man would let forth with a soft cackling laugh or let out with a string of shouted, hostile-sounding syllables that made Yumichika's heart pound against his ribs.

His own vulnerability was infuriating. He was completely at the mercy of whatever those around him decided to do, and who knew what the lunatic beside him was capable of?

Thirty minutes into the second hour, he found out.

Yumichika felt a poke in his ribs. It was not rough or vicious, and after a few seconds, it was followed by another one. Then another. Until it was a series of steady proddings that, while not painful, was irritating nonetheless. The man was also laughing to himself in much the way a child who is being a nuisance takes pleasure in his own naughtiness, and Yumichika was convinced that he was either mentally disabled or insane.

At last, the incessant prodding was too much to bear.

"Please stop that," Yumichika implored. He still kept his eyes closed and spoke into the space above him.

That only increased the frequency of the nudges.

"I'm asking you, please stop that," Yumichika repeated.

And then from the nonsensical mutterings, between the giggles and bursts of odd glee, came something lucid.

"Pr-pr-pr . . . pr-pr-pr . . . " The man was not stuttering. It was more like he was singing a child's song. "Pr-pr-pretty pea-pea-cock!"

Yumichika opened his eyes, stunned, and looked at the man, who was very close beside him.

He was also about the same age as Ikkaku but with none of Ikkaku's stark boldness of character. Even though he was thin, he looked soft and indolent. He stared at Yumichika with eyes the color of the sky on a rainy fall morning; but it was not the color that rattled Yumichika: it was the penetrating gaze of an unhinged mind, a mind able to see without the hindrances of reason and logic. A mind capable of perceiving the shadow of something that no longer was. A mind both mesmerizing and terrifying.

"What did you say?" Yumichika asked, his voice barely a breath across his lips.

"I can't hear you!" the man sang.

No, of course not. The noise in the place was deafening.

Yumichika spoke louder. "What did you call me?"

"Prrrrettyyyyy Peeeeeeacock!" came the jubilant reply. "In . . . here." He reached out a dirty finger towards Yumichika's eye, and when Yumichika turned his away, he placed his chained hands one on each side of Yumichika's face and forced his head back around. He pressed his thumbs down against the outer corners of Yumichika's eyes. "In here!"

"Let—let go of me," Yumichika demanded.

The man's thumbs pushed down to Yumichika's mouth, which he then tried to pry open, honking the entire time, "In here! In here!"

From up on the platform above the floor, Rolovan watched carefully. His desire to see Yumichika, the precious little gem, get his just comeuppance was powerful. Witnessing his discomfort was almost intoxicating. But if it went too far and the merchandise was damaged, that would be the end of his apprenticeship.

He turned to the deck keeper beside him. "Is that man dangerous?"

"Eh, ain' none dan'gous 'til dey is," came the shrugged answer. "Dat one . . . li'l . . loosa he-ah." The keeper tapped his temple. A grotesque laugh burst forth, as he added, "Tried 'en a 'ave it wid a dead 'un."

Rolovan looked at him abruptly. "What?"

"Ya know . . . slinkin' a dead 'un."

"Are you telling me . . . " Rolovan had to pause and swallow down his horror, " . . . that he tried to have sex with the dead man?"

The keeper shrugged "Is wa' id is."

Rolovan looked back to where the madman was still continuing to harass his bunk mate. There did not appear to be any great danger yet.

"_Let him deal with it a little longer,"_ he nodded to himself. _"He needs to know not to try anything like that ever again. If I pull him out of here too soon, it'll just make him more arrogant than he already is."_

Rolovan returned his attention to the keeper and smiled as if he hadn't a care in the world. "I hope the seas are smooth for the rest of the voyage."

The keeper dug a finger into his ear and then looked to see if he had scraped anything of interest out.

No. Nothing.

Rolovan simpered. All of this—hanging out in a cesspool with souls that barely qualified as human and trying to make conversation with a vulgar barbarian—all of this just for a pretty piece of pie.

* * *

Head Captain Yamamoto paced the colonnade as he considered his options.

His brief meeting with Totui Madarame had done much to convince him that, despite Totui's protestations to the contrary, Ayasegawa had, in fact, been inserted into the slave trade. No information about the trader or his destination was given. Madarame had held to his line that he had simply been passing through the area – a falsehood so blatant that it could only be meant as a snub to those asking the questions.

In short, Totui Madarame knew his inquisitors were well aware that he was lying, and he was taking great pleasure in flaunting his dishonesty. In addition, he also knew that the likelihood of his being put to death for giving a man over to slavery was almost certainly non-existent. That was why he'd been secretly satisfied at Ikkaku's decision to go to the Gotei 13 with the matter. Whereas Ikkaku would have eventually killed him and been happy to do so, the _superior _leaders of the court guard squads would never consider such a punishment for something so banal.

Yet, he might have thought differently had he known Genyrusai Yamamoto.

Not that the head captain was actually considering capital punishment for the crime, but it certainly was not beyond the realm of possibility, were things to turn out badly.

And badly, they might.

The lower east was a dangerous place – not a place Yamamoto would have chosen to keep Ayasegawa out of the public eye. In fact, chances were that the former Shinigami was about to be thrust into the center of that eye in ways he could not imagine. Or perhaps, he could imagine them.

Ayasegawa had always been keenly aware of his own beauty. The loss of Ruri'iro Kujaku had diminished only the arrogance and seductive allure. The physical splendor had remained. And such splendor would not be wasted working in mines or schlunking through the background, cleaning toilets and scrubbing floors.

No, Ayasegawa would be a high-price item, purchased by a wealthy estate.

For entertainment purposes.

"And men like to show off their prizes," Genyrusai said out loud.

So, that meant Ayasegawa would not be hard to find. Bragging rights would quickly spread word of him throughout the region.

Now, Yamamoto only needed people in place with ears to hear the braggarts.

But who to send?

This was his quandary.

* * *

Yumichika lay as still as he could.

Only the tremulous rising and falling of his chest gave any indication that he was in turmoil.

And yet, that was his true state of mind.

For the past thirty minutes, he had been subjected to one of the most bizarre, unnerving experiences of his life.

The man on his left had spent the entire time _exploring_. Yumichika could think of no other word for it. The man had run one or both hands over every part of Yumichika's body, slowly, methodically, reaching under his clothing, touching his most private and also his most public places. At first, Yumichika had asked, then demanded that he stop the invasive intimacy. When that hadn't worked, he'd called out for help, truly expecting Rolovan to come deliver him from the situation. But when Rolovan did not come—no one came—he had opted for still and silent. And ten minutes or so into the exploration, he came to the conclusion that it was not a sexual thing. In fact, Yumichika could have handled the desire of a man to have sex with him easier than he was handling this. Yumichika understood the craving men felt for him, even without his seductive reiatsu.

But this . . . he could not understand this. This was not just a casual brushing of another man's hands over his body. This was a . . . searching, fixated groping, the sole purpose of which seemed to be experience. And through it all, the man never stopped muttering the words, "In here . . . in here . . . in here." It was as if he were seeking out and asserting at the same time.

He was completely and utterly mad . . . a lunatic.

And Yumichika could not evade his probing hands.

Even though he had only been on the slave deck for four hours, it felt like days, even weeks. In a moment, he would start screaming for Rolovan. Anything to get this man's hands off him.

But he did not have to scream. Suddenly, Rolovan appeared over him, looking down with a knowing smile. The apprentice had been watching the whole time, and at last, his anxiety had gotten the better of him. His smug satisfaction at Yumichika's debasement and distress could not hold out against his own fear of losing his place under Savo's wing should anything tragic befall the merchandise. He would not risk waiting any longer. The crazy man might turn savage at any second, and then what?

"I see you've made a friend," Rolovan mocked. "He seems to have taken to you."

Yumichika swallowed. "Make him stop."

"What? He's just doing what everyone else wants to do," Rolovan sneered lasciviously, noticing that the man, seemingly oblivious to his arrival, simply continued what he was doing. "Besides, you'd better get used to it."

"Please . . . take me out of here," Yumichika implored, barely keeping his voice and wits under control.

"Oh, now you want to go back to Master Savo's cabin? You weren't grateful when you were there before," Rolovan taunted. "Maybe you learned a little something from being down here?" He turned and motioned to two of the deck keepers. When they approached, he sent one off to bring Keppy and Crampus. The other began unlocking the chains.

And still the madman continued to press and caress him.

"Get him—please get him off me," Yumichika begged.

Rolovan put his hands under Yumichika's shoulders and pulled him off the platform onto his feet.

The madman grasped and grappled. "Peacock! P-P-Peacock!" he cried out in maniacal laughter.

Yumichika found the courage to glance at him once more, but the glance turned into a stare. The stormy eyes looking back at him seemed to penetrate his very being.

"Peacock! Inside! Inside!" the man crowed.

"Why do you keep saying that?" Yumichika asked, his voice shaking.

"Pr-pr-pretty pea-pea-cock!"

"Shut up!" Yumichika burst out, then before he realized what he was saying, he'd cried, "There is no more peacock!"

The madman grew silent and a broad grin stretched the leathery skin across his face.

"Breathe . . . " he said, stretching the word out in a long, heavy exhalation. "Breathe . . . "

Yumichika felt himself sinking into the gray, swirling eyes. An invisible weight was bearing down on him, and he felt as if the ship were closing in, folding over him. What was this lunatic able to see in him that spoke of what once had been?

_Breathe . . . breathe . . . pretty peacock . . . breathe . . . _

And yet, he felt as if his lungs could draw no air.

The blackness of the slave decks collapsed around him, and he freely allowed himself to be buried underneath.

In the quiet.

* * *

"The head captain wants to see you," Toshiro Hitsugaya announced, walking into his own office to find his lieutenant, Rangiku Matsumoto, stirring from a nap on his couch.

Mention of the head captain sparked Rangiku's attention and brought her fully awake on the instant. "He wants to see me? Why?"

"He said he has a special mission for you," Toshiro replied. "He wouldn't elaborate."

"Wouldn't elaborate? Not even to you?"

"Don't rub it in, Matsumoto," the young captain chastised. "You'd better hurry up and get over there."

Less than five minutes later, Rangiku was standing in the head captain's office along with Sentaro Kotsubaki, third seat in Squad 13, Hanataro Yamada, newly promoted sixth seat in Squad Four, and two lower-ranking officers whom Rangiku had seen before but had not committed to memory. One was a young woman from Squad Six. The other was a middle-aged man from Squad Two.

Captain Yamamoto rose from his chair and came around his desk.

"I have a mission that requires unique skills," he began. "That is why each of you was chosen. You may not appreciate your individual assignments once I give them to you, but they must be carried out." A pause. "You all knew former Fifth Seat Ayasegawa—"

Rangiku's stomach leapt into her throat. What had happened to Yumichika that necessitated the head captain's involvement?

Yamamoto was still speaking. "I have a reliable report that he has been sold into slavery. He needs to be retrieved. While there are small enclaves of slavery throughout Soul Society, the main market for it is in the lower East."

"Across the sea," Sentaro added.

"Emanating from Gonow."

"You believe that's where he was taken?" Rangiku asked.

"It seems most likely," Yamamoto replied. "But we cannot simply go over in force and search for him." He then explained the limitations of spirit energy and the complete lawlessness of the lower East, some of which was already known to the more experienced officers. "We must move under the radar and discover where he is. Then we can formulate a plan how to get him out."

"Why so much interest in one former Shinigami?" the woman asked. "Is it because of his zanpakuto?"

"There are compelling reasons," Yamamoto replied in a voice that ended any idea of asking for justification for the mission. "You must be able to blend into the various levels of society over there. Only by doing so will you be privy to the conversations and activities that will lead you to him." He looked them each in the eye, one by one. "But if you find him, you are to do nothing. You are to report back here. Lieutenant Matsumoto, you will be able to work the cantinas and working-class establishments. Third Seat Kotsubaki, you will likely be able to join a house guard or a militia. The captains of the house guards are some of the most knowledgeable men in any district. Sixth Seat Yamada, you will infiltrate the youth-packs that roam the streets. Fourth Seat Pelqua, you will see what you can find out from the wealthy, slave-owning classes. If you can gain a position in one of the homes as a servant, you will hear a lot of information. Fifth Seat Jubal, you will work from this end. Eastern Passage is the port that sees most slave ships off. Become part of the industry."

"Head Captain," Rangiku spoke up. "Does Ikkaku know about this?"

At that moment, Ikkaku emerged from the shadows in the back of the office where the colonnade ended to form a sort of recessed alcove.

"I know about it."

"Ikkaku!"

"Madarame will be leading the mission—"

"But he's not a Shinigami anymore," Hanataro put forth, quailing instantly under the head captain's harsh scrutiny.

Yamamoto continued. "Be prepared to depart tomorrow before sunset. Your captains have all been made aware that you will be on a special mission, but you are not to discuss the particulars with anyone other than those present right now." A pause. "In the meantime, Captain Kurotsuchi is endeavoring to get us more information to go on."

That comment made Ikkaku grin wickedly. Let his father have a good, long dose of Mayuri Kurotsuchi.

"Are all of you able to cross the eastern sea using flashstep?" he asked, getting straight down to business. He had waited in the shadows to see who the head captain would bring forth as possible team members; and while Hanataro had not thrilled him, the rest of the group was certainly competent. And even Yamada would fill his particular role of a street urchin well enough.

They all responded affirmatively of their ability to cross the sea.

Ikkaku could feel good about at least that much. He led his group through the double doors at the northern end of the office, and here they entered a room with a large table in the center. A map was already laid out, and hovering over the map . . .

Captain Ukitake and Captain Kyoraku.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Dear Reader, I hope my use of the "vernacular" isn't too hard to understand. I have to laugh when I say these lines outloud and try to figure out how to write them! Also, in the name of full disclosure . . . I really do not like the character of Hanataro. So, if my depiction of him seems a bit . . . unflattering, I apologize in advance! And as always, thank you to my reviewers! Peace, TK**_

Chapter 9 Investigative Luck

"_We're all looking for someone."_

_Doctor Livingstone, I Presume  
_Ray Thomas

* * *

"Ho-hoo! I love this kind of freedom!" Captain Kurotsuchi beamed. "The opportunity to try out new truth serums and interrogation methods without any constraints doesn't come along very often, you know. Ta-ta-ta! Oh, I suppose the fact that they don't want you dead is a constraint, but a scientist can't have everything he desires, now, can he?"

He was arranging various instruments on a medical tray while, strapped to the table beside him, Totui Madarame regarded him with perfect indifference.

"And to think . . . you're Madarame's father from the living world," Mayuri continued on gleefully. "It could only be better if you were Ikkaku himself." A high-pitched laugh squealed from his lips. "Now, _that_ would be fun! Eh, even better to have Ayasegawa." He cocked his head sideways to look Totui in the eye. "But you've taken care of that, haven't you? You've made it so we now have to _find_ the delicate little prissy pants. But that's okay, because you're going to help us find him. Heh-hee! Like it or not. Such a bother to spend so much time hunting the slave when I could be experimenting on him right now, finding out what really happened to that deadly peacock of his . . . " He shook his head. "I can't believe they let an Atmen slip away . . . and right under my nose! That may have been my only chance to study one! But no, no, the head captain—foolish old coot!—had to go and keep the truth hidden. And then, to make matters worse, when Ruri'iro Kujaku was destroyed, he let Ayasegawa go off to live in the wilderness with Madarame – your son! the barbarian! Ohhh, what I could have learned!"

"And if it's Ayasegawa you want to get your hands on, you should release me. I can help you find him," Totui offered.

"So, you do know where he is," Mayuri supposed.

"Maybe I do. If you free me, you'll find out," Totui replied. "Why bother going through all this trouble to get information I may be willing to give you freely?"

Captain Kurotsuchi felt a twisted warmth encircle his heart. "Ah, because . . . I like going to all the trouble. In fact . . . I _live_ for it." A shrug. "You'll still end up leading us to Ayasegawa, whether you do so voluntarily or not. I may yet get what I want." He picked up a syringe with a broad needle. "Shall we get started?"

* * *

"This place is a stinking pigsty," Rangiku growled, wrinkling her nose. "From one end to the other, just covered with filth."

"But it's the best place to start," Fifth Seat Jubal stated. "Back when I used to do undercover work here, it was always a hotbed for information. And if we don't find out first where Ayasegawa was shipped out from, we may end up wasting a lot of time looking for him in the wrong places."

"Captain Kyoraku said there are only two other ports that allow slave ships," Ikkaku said. "And we determined the likelihood of Yumichika being taken to one of those ports was low, being one is way up north and other just as far down south. If my father wanted to get rid of him quickly, he would have chosen the nearest port."

"I agree that Eastern Passage is the most likely choice, but we'd do better to make sure of it," Jubal replied. "Not only that, but we have to find out what ship he went out on. Not all the ships that leave here put in at the same ports over on the lower East." He paused and waited for a group of sailors to pass by. "The slave ships normally go out of here only on Thursdays. I'd say, all told, there are close to a hundred ships involved in the trade."

"Right, and our first step is to find out which ship Yumichika went out on," Ikkaku nodded. He felt confident that he had a competent team, and Jubal's knowledge of this end of the slave trade was invaluable. "How do we do that?"

"You all stand fast," Jubal replied. "Stay here in the Wait-House. People will think you're just waiting for passage. And while you're waiting, just keep your ears open in case you hear something that might be useful. Let me do the rest."

"How long?" Ikkaku asked.

"If I'm lucky, a day. If I'm unlucky, it's anyone's guess."

"Let's hope you're lucky."

* * *

"Ah, look! You can see the Hebrine Cliffs. That means we've started up the coast. Wonderful, wonderful! We'll be in port in two days tops! Look, now. Look out the window."

Yumichika remained lying on his bunk, back towards the cabin and the window. In front of him, Sweetie lay nestled against his chest, sleeping. "I don't want to see it," he said in a flat voice.

"Oh, stop moping," Savo chastised. "You've been a complete dullard since coming back up here. So your attempt to escape didn't work. So you had a little excitement down on the slave decks. Being moody and depressed won't help you get into a good household; although, I imagine with your looks, it won't matter what your personality is like. They'll just want you for your beauty. But a bit of spark will increase what they're willing to pay . . . and I like money in my pockets."

"What will happen to Sweetie?" Yumichika asked, ignoring Savo's bloated explanation.

"She'll go to the dealer for whom she's intended," Savo replied carelessly.

Yumichika felt his insides tighten. "I'll make a deal with you," he said quietly.

"What?"

Yumichika rolled over. He remained lying down but now he was facing Savo, looking at him with an expressionless mask. "I said I'll make a deal with you."

"A deal? With me?" Savo burst out laughing. "Do you think you're in a position to drive a bargain?"

"If you agree to let her stay with me, convince whoever buys me that she's part of the deal or no sale, then I guarantee you I will put on a performance that will more than double the price someone is willing to pay for me," Yumichika said, his voice and manner dead-serious.

Savo walked over to the bunk, his eyes filled with intrigue. "And how would you do that?"

"Believe me, I can do it," Yumichika replied. "I know what it takes to get men falling all over themselves."

Savo regarded him shrewdly. "You know, I believe that's true. Okay, here's the deal. I had originally thought that you would bring at least 50,000 dema. Now, I will honor your deal if you bring in 100,000. But if you bring a genna less, the deal is off."

"And if my buyer refuses to take Sweetie, the deal is off?" Yumichika proposed.

"Once a man agrees to pay 100,000 dema for you, what do I care if he agrees to take her or not. If he refuses, I won't be able to force him to change his mind, and I won't lose that money—"

"Then give me to the highest bidder who agrees to take her," Yumichika prompted. "You can make it clear from the beginning that we come together."

"Someone might take you both and then get rid of her," Savo pointed out. "If she goes to Jubavi, she will be where she is wanted."

"For what purposes?" Yumichika asked.

"He sells children to those who desire them for whatever reason," Savo shrugged. "Sometimes to parents who can't have children. Sometimes to the temples to be molded into priests and priestesses."

"For sex?" Yumichika demanded.

"I hardly think so," Savo replied. "But I don't know. I figure the less I know about Jubavi's clients, the better."

"She comes with me and I make you richer than you ever imagined," Yumichika put forth once more.

The greed swelled Savo's heart, but he was only willing to go so far as, "We'll see what happens."

* * *

Jubal chose the Anchor Chain as his first stop.

In the past, the pub had been a favorite watering hole of the slavers: the procurers, the traders, and the crews of the ships that transported them. Jubal had noticed at least three easily recognizable slave ships anchored out in the harbor. It stood to reason that some of their crew would be in the pub.

He stepped inside the dank, smoke-filled establishment and headed directly for the bar.

The bartender, a middle-aged man with a shiny dome head, was caught by surprise. "Jubal? Hell be frozen, it really is you!"

"Hello, Rebukkah," Jubal said with a slight smile.

"How long's it been? Seventy, eighty years at least! What are you doing back here? I thought you'd gone on to be a Shinigami. That's what I'd heard, anyway," Rebukkah enthused quietly, leaning over the bar to prevent others from hearing.

"All of which is true," Jubal replied. "But I'm back here on a special mission. I know I can trust you, that's why I came here first."

"Special mission? Ai, that can't be good."

"I'm looking for someone who supposedly was taken by slavers," Jubal explained. He produced a photograph. "Have you seen him?"

Rebukkah looked at the photo. "Nah, can't say as I have, and I'd remember if I'd seen him." A pause. "But I do remember a couple of the boys from The Maelstrom commenting a few weeks back about one of Savo's acquisitions."

"What did they say?"

"They said Savo had bested everyone again, because he had got hold of a gold mine, a real beauty," Rebukkah related. "I don't know if they were talking about a man or a woman."

"How long ago did you say this was?"

"Mm . . . near to three weeks."

That would have coincided with how long it would have taken to spirit Ayasegawa from the mountains to the port. "The Maelstrom . . . is she in port?" Jubal asked.

"Due in within the week, if the weather doesn't interfere. I heard from the Captive Wind that there's been a massive storm rolling across," Rebukkah replied.

"Do you know anyone else who might have seen him? Or heard about him?"

"That could be anyone," Rebukkah said. "I didn't see Savo the last time The Hamasho went out. He didn't come in here. And you know that's unusual, because he usually likes to brag about his merchandise. If he'd had such a treasure, wouldn't he have come inside to gloat?"

"That's a good point," Jubal noted. "You're right about Savo. He did love to brag." A pause. "Pour me a glass of whatever's cheapest."

"People'll be surprised to see you," Rebukkah said, reaching beneath the bar to find the cheapest.

"How many are left who would recognize me?"

"Plenty, I think," came the easy reply. "That may be to the good. They'd be willing to help you out. Even if you are a Shinigami now."

Jubal cracked a smile. "You know, I was always a Shinigami. That was undercover work."

Rebukkah raised an eyebrow. "I never would have guessed. But it doesn't matter now. Whatever work you were doing, it certainly didn't slow down the slave trade, so I'll just keep that little detail to myself."

Jubal slammed back the cheap stuff. "Keep your ears open, will you? And let me know if you hear anything about this little jewel."

"You got it."

"I'm sooo hungry, I'm going to go crazy."

Ikkaku screwed his eyes shut at the sound of Hanataro Yamada's voice. It grated on his nerves. The kid grated on his nerves. For the past two hours, Ikkaku wondered why he had ever agreed to include him on the mission.

Hanataro was a child – physically. And mentally, as far as Ikkaku was concerned. But apparently, the head captain, as well as Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku felt secure in his ability to be part of the mission; and so, Ikkaku had accepted him as part of the team.

He was seriously questioning that decision now.

"You've been eating the whole time we've been in here," Matsumoto pointed out.

"But I'm still hungry! The stuff they sell in here is so tasteless, I don't feel like I'm eating anything at all," Hanataro whined.

"Just deal with it," Ikkaku grumbled. "I'm tired of listening to you complain."

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, Madarame-san! I didn't mean to irritate you! It's just that when I don't eat, my stomach starts to growl and I get tired and woozy and I might even pass out and then you know I might ruin the mission and you'll all have to look after me when you should be focusing on finding Ayasegawa and then—"

"Oh, for crying out loud, I'll take you out and we'll go find some place with decent food!" Rangiku blurted out. She'd seen that Ikkaku was one word short of blowing his top, so she had beaten him to it. And her eruption was certainly more restrained than Ikkaku's would have been.

She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him across the Wait-House, exiting into the busy chaos of mid-afternoon. They crossed the wooden planks of the middle wharf, stepping onto the solid ground of a cobbled square that served as a meeting point.

Here, Hanataro's eyes grew wide, for the square was lined on one side with eating establishments – both sit-down and over-the-counter.

"Oh! What a selection!" He was about to scamper off to inspect each one when he felt something brush against his waist and back. Spinning around, he saw a young boy running off into the crowd. He felt at his waist to discover the small cloth purse he'd had hidden under his tunic was gone.

"He stole from me!" he cried out, and before Rangiku knew what was happening, Hanataro was off like a hare.

"Great," she groaned to herself. "He'll probably get picked up, and then we'll have two people we have to search for." But she needn't have worried, for Hanataro—clumsy and ridiculous as he was—had quickly caught up with the pickpocket and tackled him from behind.

No one even paid attention to the skirmish.

"Give me back my money!" Harataro demanded.

"Fuck you!" the boy beneath him shot back. "Get off me, you puny runt!"

Rangiku knocked Hanataro to the side and hauled the other boy to his feet. "You want money? I have a way for you to earn some."

"I don' earn nuthin! I take it!" came the defiant response.

"You're about to earn my hand all over your backside if you don't shut up and cooperate with me," Rangiku threatened. "Because the truth is, you don't mean a damn thing to me, but maybe you can tell me something I want to know. Either way, I can kick your skinny ass right over the edge of the wharf. Or better yet, I'll let one of these shore gangs press you into service. Believe me, I know them all!"

The boy looked at her with doubt and suspicion. "I ain't neva seen ya 'round 'ere afore. Ya don' know nuthin!"

"Oh, really?" She dragged him to the edge of the pier and with one hand dangled him over the side in the narrow fissure between the creosote-coated seawall and the dark, creaking bulk of a moored ship. "I'd be happy to drop you in there, and you'd never get out. The slightest swell could send this ship towards the wharf, and you'd be crushed, and I'd be happy about it. Why, I might even laugh!" A pause. "Or I might be willing to give you everything in this purse if you prove yourself useful."

The boy was used to being rough-handled, and he knew well how to be obstinate. But the promise of money was never something he would turn down.

"Then as' me!"

"Do you steal from the slavers?"

"Ain' no one as steals from the slavers," he replied, as if this were obvious.

"But you know who the slavers are," Rangiku went on. "You see them conducting their business."

"Ai-yea. So what?"

"So, have you seen anything in the past few weeks that caught your attention?"

"Like what?"

"Did any of the slaves stand out?"

"They none stan's out! Jus' ga'bage like da res' us."

"You know, I've only got one nerve and you're rubbing it raw," Rangiku sneered. "Plus, you're getting awfully heavy. I should just—"

"Why should 'ey stan out? Wha ya lookin' fer?"

"He would have been very beautiful," Rangiku replied. "_Very_ beautiful. The most beautiful soul you've ever seen."

"I ain' see nothin' like that," the rascal replied. "But we's all know the p'etty ones – they's all b'long Massah Savo. He always fine's the bes'."

"Master Savo?"

"Ai-yea, but 'e—'e gone out near a month 'go."

Rangiku yanked him back and dropped him on the ground, still keeping a firm hold on him. "You're going to take me to wherever you and your little snot-faced hooligan buddies hang out. Maybe they saw something. And then maybe I'll reward you."

"I'm na takin' you nowhe—" His voice cut off as Rangiku pushed him over the side. He landed with a cry and splash. And once again, not a soul could be bothered to notice.

"I hate kids." With that, she began to walk away.

"Matsumoto-san! You can't leave him down there! He'll never be able to get out. He'll drown!" Hanataro fretted.

"You get him out. I'm done with him. Here's your money back."

Hanataro looked down into the narrow space and saw the boy struggling.

No one was paying attention. No one was watching.

He could use the side of the ship as a ricochet.

In the blink of an eye, he had flashed down into the crevice, snatched the boy up, and returned to the top of the sea wall.

The boy recovered quickly, getting to his feet and scowling at his rescuer. "Ya di'nt hafta do that. I di'nt need ya."

"I did it because I wanted to," Hanataro replied plainly, and his open manner flustered the boy.

"I—I jus' gon' take ya money ag'in," he muttered.

"I'll _give_ it to you if you'll help," Hanataro countered. "What's your name?"

"None ya biznez," the boy replied.

"Well, I'm Hanataro, and right now I'm starving, so maybe you'll feel like going with me to find something to eat." He opened his purse in plain sight, pulling out a silver coin that made the boy's eyes grow wide.

"I'll show ya bes' eats," he offered in a sudden burst of agreeability.

Hanataro followed him through the throngs until they came to a line of food cart vendors. Hanataro had noticed the boy making furtive sideways glances and minute nods here and there to other boys along the way, and this was precisely what the Shinigami had been hoping for. Sometimes it paid to be a nonthreatening waif of a boy with round, moonstruck eyes and a deceptively naïve demeanor.

"Mack's da bes'," the boy said, stopping in front of a rickety contraption that was putting out copious amounts of steam and sporting a blackened grill surface.

"Order what you like," Hanataro offered.

The boy ordered as other children began gathering round.

"Are these your friends?"

"Uh . . . ai-yea," the boy replied. "They's—they's hun'gy, too."

"I'll be glad to buy something for all of them," Hanataro said. "If they'll answer a few questions first."

"Go 'ead. Ask 'em. I—" He stopped as Hanataro intercepted the timbale on the way from the vendor to his hand.

"I think we should all eat together," Hanataro smiled sweetly. "It would be rude for us to eat in front of them."

The boy's shoulders sunk. "Then as' im!"

"I'm looking for someone," Hanataro explained to the dozen or so boys and girls who had gathered around him. "He would have been a slave. And very, er . . . nice to look at."

"Wha's nice? Ain't none too many here as nice t'look at," another boy said.

"Wha'd 'e look like?"

"No, no, I won't tell you that," Hanataro replied, knowing they would simply lie and say they'd seen such a man, just to get some food in their stomachs. "He was so . . . pretty, he would have stood out. You would have noticed and remembered him."

"I knows who ya mean." A boy came forward through the others. "I can tell ya 'ow he looked. Was almos' three weeks back . . . e' 'ad long black 'air and purple eyes. He waren't tall . . . so-so, but short fer a man. 'E was one a Savo's."

"So, you saw him?" Hanataro asked.

The boy nodded. "Savo tol' me go 'n git 'im some food. I brun' ole Fatso down there. When I tole 'im was fer Savo, he went a-runnin! Never seen ole jelly roles move so fast!" He laughed.

"Which vendor? Take me to him."

"Neh, you buy 'us some chow firs'," came the confident reply.

Hanataro considered. He turned and handed the first boy the silver coin. "Buy for your friends. This should get you plenty." Then he turned to the other boy, took him firmly by the wrist and said, "Show me now and I send you back with another silver."

A moment of trust passed between them, and the boy headed off down the row of vendors until he was near the very end.

"Ai-ho! Fatty, this kid wan's a talk wid you," he chirped. He turned to Hanataro. "Now, gi' me my money."

"Just a second." Hanataro looked up at the man, who was an imposing figure. "Did you—did you see a man . . . a . . . a . . . "

"E wan's know 'bout that girlie-man Savo had," the boy interjected. "The time I brung you over to him? You knows?"

"Oh, eh, yeah, I remember. Savo always tips well."

Hanataro knew he had the right man, so he gave another silver to the boy who went running back to his friends. He also noticed the vendor's eyes at the sight of such a handsome payment.

"What're ya askin'?" the vendor began directly, anticipating his own fine reward.

"I'm trying to find out where a friend of mine has been taken," Hanataro replied. "I know he was kidnapped by a slaver, but I don't know much more than that. You said you saw him here with a man named . . ."

"Savo."

"Can you describe the slave?"

"Firs', I thought t'was a girl, ya know? But then I sees 'e's a man. Prettiest thing ever brung 'cross these boards," Fatty replied. "Black 'air all down o'er 'is shoulders. Violet eyes. Skin white as milk. Savo 'ad him bound up sep'rate from th'others. Bound up like . . . 'e was 'fraid e'd gone get loose. Lil' thing 'ad an ap'tite. Ate like a damn lion."

"Has Savo already left with him?"

"Oh, long 'go. Three weeks, at leas'," he replied.

"Where did he take him?"

"Savo always goes ta Gonow," Fatty said. "Bes' market, I hears."

"Do you know the name of the ship?"

"Savo always goes on the Hamasho. On'y the bes' for 'im."

"You've been very helpful," Hanataro said. He took out a silver. "Thank you."

Then he hurried back to the Wait-House with his information.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Dear Reader, **_

_**Fair warning and full disclosure. This chapter contains a lewd and sexually explicit scene. I had to think long and hard about even publishing it, because unlike the scene with Yumichika and Mendalo in the snow - which had some element of genuine attraction in it - this scene is perverse. And I am basing the entire slave concept and the depravity of the lower east tangentally on the book Maia. I'd say "enjoy", but I'm not sure if that's the right word . . . Peace, TK**_

Chapter 10 The Highest Bidder

"_No surprise that you want to be the one."_

_No Surprise  
_Graeme Edge

* * *

This was worse than he had been expecting.

Of course, Yumichika had had no clear idea of what he would encounter once the Hamasho made port in Gonow, but he certainly was not expecting _this_.

The dock where the Hamasho had put in abutted a sprawling wharf. When Yumichika, chained at the ankles and bound at the wrists, with only enough slack to carry Sweetie in his arms, emerged from the Hamasho, he stopped in awe at the sight before him.

This port was easily twenty to thirty times the size of Eastern Passage, stretching away up and down the coast, as well as inland beyond sight. Low buildings, many looking one strong wind gust away from collapse, lined the far side of the wharf. There were people everywhere. And from the looks of if, most of them were slaves.

The sheer volume of human cargo was overwhelming. The din from the crowds, deafening.

Rolovan had disappeared to claim the rest of Savo's procurements. Savo, himself, had stayed with Yumichika.

"It's a bit of a walk to the auction houses," Savo announced. He was fastening a length of sturdy chain to one of the iron cuffs around Yumichika's ankles. "And it appears my fellow slavers have brought in a good crop. Heavens, but it's crowded. Oh! These blasted chains! Rolovan is so much better with these things than I am . . . "

"I'm not going to try and run away," Yumichika informed him.

"Oh, I'm sure of that," Savo replied. "But when we start heading through that crowd, I'm not going to take any chances that some other slaver won't try to steal you. Look how chaotic it is. Honestly, when will they figure out how to better organize this place? Well, let's get going."

Yumichika was inclined to be obedient, for no other reason than he still had Sweetie. That seemed indication, at least for the moment, that Savo had decided to take him up on his offer. Now, he just had to deliver on his own end.

And the one thing Yumichika had never doubted was his sexual attractiveness. Even without Ruri'iro Kujaku's erotic underpinnings, even with the disappearance of his own seductive reiatsu, he knew he was desirable in ways other souls could only dream of. He was beautiful and still in possession of all his natural gifts – gifts he had not made use of since . . .

He was about to say it had been decades, maybe centuries. But that was not true.

For the past thirty-three years, he had lavished those gifts on Ikkaku daily, as much as Ikkaku could bear, given the circumstances of their relationship. But in giving to Ikkaku, Yumichika had not considered himself to be a bestower of gifts. With Ikkaku, it was simply the way things were meant to be. Caring for and loving Ikkaku, wanting to do everything possible to make him happy . . . these were not things done as gifts. They flowed freely without thought, without trigger.

But now they would come forth as the products of calculation and necessity, for the one thing Yumichika intended now was to survive. He must survive in order to escape or be rescued. Whatever weapons he had in his arsenal would be brought to bear.

His own thoughts amazed him, for he was truly in a despicable situation. He knew it was not optimism that filled his brain. It was simply pragmatism. And if his realistic perception of events bolstered his courage, that was certainly preferable to the alternative of despair and despondency.

He had seen enough of that on the Hamasho . . . and he was seeing more of it now.

Savo had placed him in front and was simply using him as a plow to push through the crowd. Savo kept a firm hold on his shoulders, and every now and then he would feel the tug of the ankle chain and start to trip, but the mob was so crammed, that he could not have fallen over even if he'd fainted.

"Do you see that wooden tower over there?!" Savo shouted over the din. "The green one with the gold ball on top . . . head towards that."

Yumichika did as he was told, although the tower jumped in and out of sight among the heads of taller people, making it hard to keep on a straight path. Sweetie, with her tiny legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, seemed fascinated by the crowd and even laughed a few times when Yumichika almost took a tumble here and there.

After nearly twenty minutes of fighting their way through the throngs, they came to the seaward-facing front row of wharf buildings and the roads and alleyways that led away from the docks into the hinter port.

Savo directed Yumichika into one of the narrower alleys, and immediately the crowd and noise were left behind. They followed the alley through at least half a dozen turns, crossing a wider thoroughfare along which groups of slaves were being herded like cattle. On the other side of the thoroughfare, they continued on in a passageway once again, passing fewer and fewer people, and with only a thin trickle of fellow walkers ahead or behind them.

At one point, they passed on the left a wide open space, and here Yumichika stopped, despite himself. There was a raised wooden platform in the center a dusty square, and on top of the platform were men – a dozen or maybe more. They were completely naked. Ropes looped through their chained wrists ran over a thick wooden pole, set horizontal above their heads. Each rope had been drawn just enough to raise the men's arms and draw them bodily up off the platform until their toes barely touched the floor. Around them milled a formidable crowd, performing what could only be described as an inspection, with more waiting their turn to come up and have a look at the merchandise.

The slaves were poked and prodded in their most private parts. Their mouths were forced open for dental inspections. Examiners' hands felt over muscle and flab. It was horrendous, yet for Yumichika perversely compelling . . .

A memory floated up unbidden in his mind.

He lay on the ground outside his machiya as they raped him over and over again. There, in front of each other. Cheering each other on. Laughing. Crowing their triumph. His torture . . . a spectator event.

Just like this . . . a spectator event.

"What . . . what . . . " he whispered, staring in rapt attention at the scene before him.

"Oh, you needn't worry about that," Savo said carelessly. "That won't happen to you. You're going to a closed auction for only the wealthiest bidders. There'll be none of that." Savo gave him a gentle shove. "Stop lingering. Come now, we still have a walk ahead of us."

They passed several more auctions, all conducted in much the same manner. Men, women, children. No one was spared the humiliating spectacle. Yumichika found himself unconsciously tightening his hold on Sweetie.

They came at last to the end of the close-clustered structures and emerged into an area much more open, and this was when Yumichika first realized that Gonow was a city on the edge of a vast desert. The port, directly behind him, was not even a pinprick on the metropolis that loomed to his left, reaching inland for miles. To his right, the low buildings gave way to the desert conditions that prevailed the further one moved from the water. Straight ahead was a cluster of fifteen or so warehouses made from earth and wood. They were white-washed and clean-looking, maintained in much better condition than structures closer to the sea.

From other feeder roads, a steady stream of slavers were making their way to the warehouses, their merchandise in tow.

There was a low wall—low enough for sitting—surrounding the warehouses, and here Savo took a moment.

"So, what is it you intend to do to double my money?" he asked. "Tell me now, because this is where I decide whether she goes with you or not."

Yumichika set Sweetie down and she promptly scurried off to chase some small desert lizards that had been sunning themselves further down the wall.

"What will be it be like in there?" Yumichika asked. "That will help me figure out the best way to do it."

"The auction hall where I'll be taking you will only have twenty bidders, tops," Savo replied. "They represent the households of the wealthiest, most powerful men and women in the lower east. The auction house has a couple physicians, and one of them will inspect you first in private. Then each acquisition goes individually in front of the group, and there is a brief period for the buyers to come up and get a closer look or inspect the acquisition. Then bidding begins."

"What sort of things does the physician look at?" Yumichika asked.

Savo barked a short laugh. "Well, given you're going to be sold as entertainment, they certainly look to make sure you have no . . . visible disease in that area."

"What else?"

"I don't know. The usual, I suppose. Are your limbs solid? Is your breathing steady? Are you lame? Do you have dental problems? Boils? Festers? I don't know. I don't hang out to watch every examination."

"That's where we'll start," Yumichika said, setting his jaw and pushing his own aversion down.

"What? Start where?"

"Convince the physician to examine me in front of the buyers."

Savo was too stunned for words. He sat in gawking silence for several seconds, then at last, he asked in a voice trembling with nervous humor, "You want the physician to examine you in front of the buyers?"

"Can you do it?"

"W-well . . . it is an unusual request," Savo replied. "I don't . . . I don't know if—if –"

"If he's resistant to the idea, offer to pay him," Yumichika said. "Offer to pay him something that will make him change his mind."

Suddenly, in Savo's eyes, Yumichika underwent an amazing transformation. Gone was the dour, wilting victim of the slave trade, bemoaning his cruel fate. In its stead was a schemer, a plotter, a master manipulator. And for the first time, the slaver believed that his prize piece of merchandise just might be able to deliver on his promise . . . and then some.

"I take it I'll be naked through this whole thing," Yumichika said matter-of-factly, and indeed, he was bemused at just how quickly old ways of life came bubbling back to the surface. If he hadn't known any better, he might have imagined that a tiny spark inside him flickered with the light of his past abilities.

"Well, of course, if he examines you in front of everyone," Savo replied, warming up to the plan that was coming together. "But otherwise, no, it's not always required. Some buyers will take merchandise without much inspection. It all depends on the purpose of the purchase."

"The purpose? I thought you said I was being sold for entertainment—"

"Yes, but there's a world of difference between entertaining the house servants or the house guards to keep them happy, and serving the master or mistress of a house," Savo replied. "And there's an even greater difference with the elite bed-mates."

"Elite bed-mates? Who are they?"

"It's a common practice that when a lord wishes to show off his finest, he makes them available to the lords and honored individuals from other homes. At a price, of course," Savo explained. "And beauty isn't enough to warrant being an elite. You have to be able to perform."

"That won't be a problem," Yumichika said dismissively. His thoughts were already three steps ahead.

"My, my, but you're a very confident fellow, aren't you?" Savo noted with a wry grin. "I would never have guessed it, but maybe I should have, given your little adventure on the ship. I'm glad to see you're finally taking well to your new circumstances."

"I do what I must to survive," Yumichika said.

"Including risking it all for a child?" Savo eyed him carefully. "That seems very mule-headed of you."

"It's your fault," Yumichika sniffed. "You're the one who brought her up to the room and put me in charge of her. Blame yourself if I've grown attached." He paused. "But I—I don't want her to see what goes on during the bidding. You'll have to find a way to take her outside."

Now, Savo was even more intrigued. "So, what other tricks do you have up your sleeve to increase the bidding?"

"No tricks," Yumichika replied. "I won't have to do much at all. People love to look at me, and . . . I'll make sure the looking is worth their while."

* * *

" . . . and he said Savo always goes to a place called Gonow on a ship named The Hamasho. He said it set sail about three weeks ago."

Hanataro finished giving his report.

"And he's sure it was Yumichika?" Rangiku asked.

"Well, the man he described sounded like Fifth Seat—er, Ayasegawa-san," Hanataro replied.

Ikkaku was thoughtful. "Three weeks ago. That's—" He stopped as Jubal joined them. "Did you find out anything?"

"I ran into a number of sailors who remembered seeing a man who fit Ayasegawa's description," he replied. "He was in the possession of a slaver named Savo, who went out three weeks ago en route to Gonow on The Hamasho."

Ikkaku felt hope plucking at his insides. "Hanataro heard the same information. Do you know this man Savo?"

"Very well," Jubal answered. "He's one of the wealthiest slavers out there. He deals more in . . .quality than quantity. Well—no, no, that's not exactly right. He deals with . . . specialized requests."

"Specialized requests?" Fourth Seat Pelqua inquired.

"Some buyers are looking for something very specific," Jubal explained. "Some want all brawn and no brains. Some want only beautiful women. Some want children. Some want only beautiful men. There's a type of slave for every category of labor." He paused and was hesitant on his addendum. "Including the sex industry."

It was clear that the only reason he had added this statement was because he felt that was the most likely use to which Yumichika would be put.

And none of the others could disagree.

Jubal went on. "He won't hurt Ayasegawa. He makes his bread and butter by delivering healthy, intact merchandise. And it's a sure bet that Ayasegawa will bring in a lot of money. He won't be sold to one of the common sex houses. He'll be going to a private residence."

"How many days will it take to get over there by ship?" Ikkaku asked.

"Three to four weeks, depending on the weather," Jubal replied.

"Can everyone flashstep over the sea?"

Hanataro looked down shame-facedly.

"Yamada?" Ikkaku grimaced.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Hanataro apologized. "I think—I think someone will have to carry me—"

"It's better to go on a ship," Jubal interjected.

"How's that?" Ikkaku asked doubtfully. "That's three or four weeks delay, when we could be over there in a matter of hours, searching."

"We all need to become familiar with the lay of the land, so to speak," Jubal replied. "Don't forget, our spirit energy will be nullified over there because of the bedrock of seki-seki. And our ability to use shunpo will be gone. In fact, you'll start to notice it weakening even while we're still a day or two out of port. And once we're there, we'll need to plan a way to get back out – with Ayasegawa. And we'll have to do it on foot. We need to get a feel for the port and the surrounding area. Besides, there may be a chance The Hamasho hasn't even arrived in port yet. Three to four weeks, remember? But most important, you don't want to attempt a rescue while Ayasegawa is still in the hands of the slavers."

"Why not?" Pelqua asked.

"Because there are just too many moving pieces," Jubal replied. "There are hundreds of auction houses, and Savo has been known to visit all of them at one time or other to sell his merchandise. If Savo even remotely suspects someone is trying to steal his prize, he'll find a way to disappear and bide his time. Believe me, knowing him, I'm sure he's already taking every precaution and being hyper-vigilant. You may start off trying to steal Ayasegawa and end up getting him killed. It will be easier to get him out of a private residence than whisk him away from the auction houses. We should go over by ship and approach this methodically."

"While Yumichika is being offered up as some sex slave?" Ikkaku shook his head, memories of Mito floating up in his mind. "No, I'm not willing to wait. We leave in the morning. Flashstep."

"Ikkaku, we don't want to be hasty," Matsumoto warned.

Ikkaku looked at her with fire smoldering in his eyes. "_You_ know why I don't want to wait. I'm sure you haven't forgotten everything I told you."

Rangiku looked back at him in silent comprehension. She _had_ never forgotten the story Ikkaku had told at Yumichika's bedside as he'd lain dying. And she understood why Ikkaku would not want Yumichika to be subjected to even one more second of perversity than he'd already suffered in his life. Forcing him now to restrain himself might be asking too much.

"We _can_ go," she agreed. "We _can_ use flashstep. But Ikkaku, for Yumichika's sake, let's not push so far ahead that we outrun ourselves. He's got a good head on his shoulders. He'll be able to hold on until we can get him out safely."

Ikkaku glanced at Jubal who confirmed, "His value alone will prevent anyone from doing something stupid with him."

"Alright, then. We'll go by ship," Ikkaku agreed reluctantly. "Jubal, find us passage. I want to be out of here as soon as possible."

Now, if only he could reign in his own impatience.

* * *

"You want me to examine him _in front_ of the bidders?" The physician shook his head and went back to the slave he was currently examining in preparation for the opening auction, scheduled to begin in an hour. "Savo, you've lost your mind."

"Maybe, but indulge me," Savor replied.

"When did you start taking an interest in humiliating your slaves in front of the bidders?" the physician asked without stopping what he was doing.

"It wasn't my idea," Savo replied. "It was his."

"No, I'm not going to do it. How perverse can a man be?"

"I'll pay you a thousand dema," Savo pressed.

"Ha! You don't expect him to bring you much, do you?" the physician said caustically.

"Three thousand dema."

Now the physician looked up askance. "Make it ten thousand and we'll talk."

"If I make it twelve, can we skip talking and you'll just agree to do it?" Savo grinned.

The physician straightened up and waved off the man he had just been examining, who was taken away by his trader. "Where is this precious cherry you're willing to put on display . . . " His voice trailed off as he took in the sight of Yumichika, standing demurely behind Savo, eyes fixed on the ground, his body language speaking of hesitation and withdrawal. And dazzling enough to make a man forget his name. A second passed, and Yumichika raised his eyes to meet those of the physician; and instead of the retreating, mild gaze of a man defeated, the doctor saw an invitation to the most erotic pleasures, the chance to lose himself in the swirling pools of violet.

He cleared his throat. "This—this is him?"

Savo only nodded.

"He's barely into manhood. He, uh, he can't want—how's he going to take . . . being—being out there naked in front of everyone with me, uh, ehm, examining him?" The doctor stammered.

"I don't mind you touching me," Yumichika said smoothly.

Still, the physician balked. "I . . . I don't know. It would be . . . very . . . odd."

"But it's what I want," Yumichika said, taking a slow, tantalizing step closer. "Think of how envious the others will be to see you touching me . . . as part of your job."

The physician gave a shaky laugh. Clearly, the idea appealed to him, and yet it was so strange that he was not sure he could actually carry it out.

Savo honed in for the sale. "Twelve thousand dema and the chance to put on a little show in front of the buyers. I'm giving you first crack at it, Lucas. If you're not interested, I can always ask Embry." Embry was the other auction house physician.

Embry, who'd been standing nearby conducting his own examination of another slave, had been listening to the entire conversation. "You wouldn't have to ask me twice," he piped up.

"Of course not," Lucas chuckled, but there was something derisive in his voice. "You already feel them l up during your private examinations. How many have you slinked when I wasn't looking?"

"I'll never tell," Embry replied. "But I _will _tell you . . . " He straightened up and looked at Savo. "I could use twelve thousand." His gaze roved over to Yumichika. "And I'd be happy to give him the once-over in front of the entire fucking Soul Society."

"Such language for a doctor," Lucas chastised with a condescending smirk. "But if you're so anxious to get a piece of the action, why don't we examine him together? And Savo, you can pay each of us, say, seven thousand dema?"

Savo turned to Yumichika, who appeared completely unruffled as he replied with a nod. "Even better."

"Embry?"

"Agreed."

"Well, then the matter is settled," Savo said, wondering if he had truly, as Lucas had first charged, lost his mind. Or if he were just being taken for a fool by a wily slave.

"He'll have to go last," Lucas stated, and a pointed smile stretched his ample mouth from cheek to cheek. "It would be . . . unwise to stick him in the middle. Who knows if my good fellow physician will be able to recover himself after such a scene? He might need some private time."

Embry enjoyed the barb. "Yes, indeed. And you'd find yourself right there with me. We could have a fucking contest to see who gets to be the man."

Lucas spit with laughter. "A spar! Dueling dicks!"

While the two physicians were soaking in their own idea of debauched hilarity, Yumichika turned to Savo and motioned with him to move away from the two men back into the waiting area.

"Now, _that_ was a performance," Savo beamed. "Brilliant! Although I'm not sure what will happen when the moment actually comes. Are you sure you want those two men all over you in front of everyone?"

"It's no different than what I saw with the other slaves out in the auctions outside," Yumichika replied. "The only difference is that I _will_ be putting on a show." He looked over at Sweetie, whom Savo had left in the charge of one of the auction house guards while he and Savo had been working their deal. She was happily playing with some scraps of paper and a pencil the guard had managed to scrape up. "You'll make sure she stays out here while that's going on, right?"

"I promised you I would," Savo replied.

Yumichika regarded him with a grave expression. "You must be in control of the auction. I know you told me you're not the auctioneer, but it must be made clear that I will not be sold to any house that will not take her."

"After what I just saw, I don't think that will be a problem. You could convince a king to bring a pig into his bed, as long as you came with it," Savo quipped.

"Or . . . " Yumichika took on his most modest affectation. "You could just decide not to sell me. You could keep me yourself."

Savo chortled. "Now, why would I want to do that? You _are_ charming, there's no doubt about that. But what use have I for a lovely decoration? Besides, men aren't my thing. You'll be taken into a household where you'll be appreciated for all your . . . natural skills and abilities." A pause. "You're a bit dusty and messy after the walk. Maybe you should clean yourself up a bit first."

"No," Yumichika deferred with certainty. "The way I look right now will be perfect. I need only two things."

"What?"

"I need to be clothed when they take me out there," Yumichika replied. "And I need a pin or a . . . a skinny twig about this long to hold up my hair." Silently, he added, _"And a lot of courage."_

* * *

Five hours later, Savo stood up excitedly. "There are only two ahead of you now," he said with a chirp in his voice. "And the bidding has run high! Oh, let's hope it continues to do so!"

"You must untie my wrists and chain my arms behind me," Yumichika said, standing up as well.

Savo narrowed his eyes. "Why? I know you can slip out of the manacles."

"How will they get this shift off me if my arms are tied? If you use the chains, they can just use the key to free me long enough to slip it off, and then chain me up again." His voice was absolutely steady. "They'll enjoy watching. And you know I can't use flashstep here. I couldn't escape even if I tried."

"That's true—"

"And you must tell them I used to be a Shinigami. If they are men of power, they will like the idea of lording that over me," Yumichika went on.

Savo shook his head with a smile. "I don't know if I'm doing the right thing by trusting you, but my greed is outpacing my reason."

Bidding for the next two slaves went quickly.

"This is it," Savo said, sounding both nervous and excited. "Guard, bring the little girl."

The auctioneer, a rabbit-looking man with a jumpy manner and snappy movements, saw Savo waiting.

"Our last piece of merchandise comes from the ever-reliable Savo," the auctioneer announced. "Savo, what have you got for us this time?"

Savo stepped out onto the platform, leaving Yumichika and Sweetie in the custody of the two physicians and the house guards.

"Ah, thank you, thank you, Pulte. Yes, yes, I have something for you today that will make it worth all the long hours you've been sitting here," Savo chimed. "In fact, I am selling two for the price of one. They are a set and must be sold together or there can be no deal." There, he had kept the first part of his promise: to make sure the inseparable nature of his pair was clearly articulated, although given enough money, he would not care if they stayed together or not. "And I think once you see him, you will have no problem with taking his . . . little companion. I should also tell you that he used to be a Shinigami, although you will concede that being a Soul Reaper was an immense waste of his . . . assets." He had their rapt attention, as always. But he knew he was about to present to them something they had never seen before and could never expect to see again. And he relished the moment. "As a special precaution . . . to make sure he's physically suitable to enter your homes, and because I am sure you will spending an outrageous amount on him, you will be able to witness his examination by the two house physicians. That's only fair, is it not, when spending your masters' money?" A pause. "Very well, then." He held out his arm and the two physicians, one on each side, escorted Yumichika out onto the platform. Sweetie followed of her accord, grasping the hem of Yumichika's garment in both hands.

The room was still as a tomb. All eyes were riveted.

"I will turn it over to the good doctors now," Savo said, and as he left the platform, he took Sweetie with him, and she went without a peep. Yumichika watched as Savo turned her over to the guard, who removed her from the room.

Good. Now it was show time.

Embry took over. "Good afternoon, gentlemen . . . and ladies. Well, this is a first. You don't usually get to see us doing our job. But in this case, I agree with Savo, that you will want to know you are getting what you pay for. So, let's get started." A pause. "The first thing we do as physicians is just make a quick visual sweep," he said, as Lucas removed the manacles from Yumichika's wrists. "To do that, the slave strips naked . . . "

Yumichika had on only one garment: the over-sized shift. And he knew how to shed it like a snake shedding its skin. He reached up behind his neck and took hold of the back, drawing the it slowly up over his head so that it still covered the front of his body. As he pulled it over his head, he drew loose the twig he'd used as a hairpin, so that his black tresses spilled down over his shoulders like rivers of coal.

Already some in the bidding pool were fidgeting.

He let the shift slide down his arms, down his body, landing in a pile on the floor at his feet, leaving him exposed to those who would buy him.

The current in the room changed in that instant. Changed from curious observation to lurid anticipation. The slave on the platform was excruciatingly splendid. It seemed unfair that only one household should walk away with him.

Embry scooted the shift to the side with his foot as Lucas reattached the manacles behind Yumichika's back. "We make sure there's no lopsidedness in his stance that might speak of ill-formed limbs. Turn."

Lucas prompted Yumichika to turn around.

"We check from front and back, because it' not always noticeable from just one angle. Here, from the back you can see much better if there any abnormalities. None to be noted here." He placed a finger on each shoulder. "Shoulders even." Then he did the same at the shoulder blades and the hip bones. "All even. I would even go so far as to say perfect. Turn."

Yumichika turned to face forward again. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, but he made sure that there was some hint, some faint wisp in the corner of his mouth, in the pull of his cheek, that countered the coyness of his eye.

"Then we check the solidness of the bones," Embry went on. "Often, if a bone has been broken and not healed properly, we can detect it just by feeling. And badly healed bones are usually disqualifiers for this auction house. They are so much more likely to break again." He placed both hands on Yumichika's left arm, which Lucas did the same with the right arm. "It's easy to detect a break in the arms, but the legs are much more difficult, because the bone isn't as easily felt." He placed his hand at the juncture where Yumichika' leg met his hip, pressing his fingers into the taut groin.

Yumichika parted his lips and drew in a barely perceptible breath – only it was meant to be fully perceptible to the viewers. He drew his head up off his chest and closed his eyes. As Embry's examination moved lower on his leg, followed by Lucas on the other leg, his shoulders relaxed and the moment of incitement passed.

"No broken bones."

Yumichika felt an inward snide satisfaction at this statement. It was testimony to just how powerful Ruri'iro Kujaku had been when it came to healing him, for he'd broken many bones as a Shinigami, some more than once. And now, no sign of those breaks.

Embry continued on with checks of the ears and nose and throat. He listened to the heart and lungs. Then he made a cursory dental check, which aroused several spectators in some strange way.

"Of course, the last thing we check are the sexual organs, to make sure he isn't malformed or carrying any disease – visible disease, at least." Without hesitation, he reached down and cupped Yumichika's scrotum.

Yumichika drew in a sharp, calculated breath.

"Are the testes under-sized? Over-sized? Are they heavy? Light?" Embry explained. He was down on one knee, looking back and forth between his audience and the object of his examination. "Are they smooth or do they show sign of surface infection?"

Yumichika forcefully allowed himself to indulge the sensations. He had to provide the crowd, one of whom would own him, with something other than mere beauty, if he hoped to make the payment and keep Sweetie at his side. He felt the warmth flowing into that part of his body, and he did not attempt to stop it. He filled his mind with every tawdry image in order to encourage it.

"When examining the penis, we look for—well! It looks like he's going trying to give us a little help in that area, I'd say," Embry quipped, noting the nascent erection there at eye-level. His remark brought a smattering of nervous, aching laughter from the bidders. "Once again we look for obvious signs of disease—" He wrapped his fingers around the growing flesh.

Yumichika gasped and grimaced.

Which made the spectators gasp and grimace.

Yumichika added a tremor to his breathing, kept his eyes closed, and tilted his head back at just the right angle to give his viewers the most provocative view of his neck, pulsing an invitation with every heartbeat.

"Is there any discharge? An odor? Visible sores or—" Embry, the picture of perverse confidence, found himself swallowing down his own sudden nervousness. He felt as if the control he'd always had over his desires was slowly going up in smoke. " . . . or . . . discoloration? Does the slave . . . respond to stimulation?"

Above him, Yumichika drew on the long-buried recollections of his past. The days of Mito. The days of bartering his body.

And how readily those memories came flooding back to assist him.

He opened his eyes and looked down at the man manipulating him. He watched Embry's fingers as they massaged and caressed . . . and he made sure everyone saw him watching. A voyeur observing his own seduction.

A well-played act.

He stood trembling and shifting, small sounds of arousal breaking forth, muscles tensing and untensing.

"Shall we finish the examination, Doctor Embry?" This from Lucas, who could see that his colleague was falling under the spell of what was obviously a clearly thought–out ploy to raise the bidding to unforeseen levels. "Doctor Embry?"

Embry shook himself loose just long enough to stumble to his feet. "Y-yes, yes, of course."

Lucas looked to someone out of sight beyond the platform. "We need the table and the jar on top of it."

Two guards carried a wooden table up on the platform, set it down and returned out of sight again.

Looking at Embry and seeing that he would not be able to speak so eloquently any longer, given his own state of arousal, Lucas took over. "For the bed-slaves, the last thing we have to look at is . . . the receiving end." He said this with a quirky smile and subtle chuckle that eased some of the sexual tension in the room. But the reprieve was short-lived. "Here, come here." He tugged Yumichika to the edge of the table and leaned him face-down over top of it.

Yumichika made sure he had his face to the viewers, and he put on his best expression of fearful yet eager anticipation, lips slightly parted, eyes half-closed.

Lucas nodded to Embry. "His shoulders."

Embry went to the other side of the table and placed his hands on Yumichika's shoulders, holding him down.

"As elsewhere, we make sure there's no sign of visible damage or disease," Lucas narrated his own examination, parting Yumichika's buttocks as if he were breaking bread. "It's a tricky business here, but very important. A slave who has never participated in the activity must be treated very gingerly during the examination, and a recommendation must follow to the would-be purchaser as to whether or not the slave is physically receptive to the possibility of such activity."

The pedantic sterility of his words was perfect for the situation. In contrast with Yumichika's performance as a man being unwillingly brought to a willing crescendo, it could not be better matched.

"Many a bed-slave would have fared better had they been brought slowly and patiently into the practice," Lucas went on. "Too much too soon, and you'll be dealing with tears, infection, sepsis, and sometimes, even death. That's a loss of investment that could easily be avoided by ascertaining first, if the slave is suited for the act, and second, easing them into it. So, when we conduct this part of the examination, we can feel for any deformities that might disqualify them, check for elasticity, and we're very careful not to injure the slave." A pause. "It's not the most pleasant part of the job, but with this one . . . I might actually enjoy it!"

The bidders tittered, but they were too absorbed in the indecency to break their concentration.

Yumichika tensed, despite himself. The last man who had entered him was Mendalo, and that had been many decades ago.

He felt Lucas touching him with his finger just outside, and then before he could even think, there was the familiar moment of pressure and Lucas was inside, pressing here and there. Yumichika groaned with appropriate dramatic emphasis and writhed upon the table, beneath Embry's restraining hands.

"It's important to feel for tumors, check for prostate health," Lucas was saying, adding, "He feels perfectly sound in this area. He's quite elastic without being loose."

Yumichika focused every bit of his attention on the movement of Lucas's finger across his prostate, and he knew from the physician's persistent stimulation of the gland that the purpose was to bring him to climax.

At least, they were working towards the same goal.

Yumichika shifted his hips where they met the table's edge, wriggling against the intensity of what had now moved quite beyond the limitations of a mere medical exam.

Lucas beamed like a circus ringmaster. "I'm not sure if he's trying to get away from me or increase the sensation; but clearly, he is very receptive to stimulation."

Embry, pressing Yumichika's shoulders against the table, felt the drops of sweat dripping down his face.

Yumichika made a pretense of stifling his groans, and just those minute sounds decided Lucas that he would see it all the way through now.

"Not much longer . . . just a little more," the physician said, as if encouraging a child through the act of receiving a shot. "There we go . . . there we go. Come on . . . you're almost there."

And although it was all part of his plan, Yumichika fell more and more into helplessness as his body rose to the occasion. He thought of Mendalo and the snow, Ikkaku on the edge of Maiweg's orchard . . .

Ruri'iro Kujaku in the maroon room, where one touch had been enough to heat him to the melting point.

This was like none of those moments of ecstasy; but it needed their memories to culminate a physical action, Yumichika bucking violently against the arms holding him down, strangled cries of release seeping through his drawn lips. After he had spent himself, he fell exhaustedly atop of the table, his own ejaculate sticky and warm between his stomach and the wooden surface. His cheek, flushed and damp, glistened with tiny drops of sweat, mingled with the dirt and dust of the streets.

Lucas—even he was now shaking—withdrew the means of his examination, eliciting one final groan from the patient.

The doctor swallowed and nodded stiffly. "Yes, well, that concludes the examination." He took a few steps back, concluding, "Uh, he's all yours, Pulte." He turned the stage over to the auctioneer, quickly exiting with Embry and leaving Yumichika still lying across the table.

Pulte, caught off-guard, was barely able to keep his feet and maintain his countenance. He ascended the steps while motioning to Savo. "Will you come, uh, stand up here with your . . . your merchandise?"

Savo bounded up the steps. Events had made him giddy. He drew Yumichika up slowly and turned him towards the bidders, like a schoolboy displaying his good work. For his own part, Yumichika looked every bit the wanton creature in the foggy grip of post-coital euphoria, dripping with perspiration and gummed with semen, disheveled and out-of-breath.

Pulte cleared his throat. "Well, that was . . . illuminating. I—I never—I never knew wh-what went into a slave's, ehm, examination." He took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. "I, uh . . . I don't . . . " He was clearly flustered and his voice wavered.

"Open viewing?" Savo prompted.

"Yes, yes. We will now have open viewing."

Not a soul came forward.

Savo felt a momentary pang of fear. After the amazingly seductive performance Yumichika had put on, was it possible that no one wanted to buy him? Had he intimidated them all so much as to chase them away?

"No one?" The auctioneer asked. "No one wants a closer look?" Faced with dead silence, he coughed once. "Or maybe no one needs a second look. Very well, let's start the bidding. Do I have ten thousand?"

A man in the front row raised his card. "Fifty thousand."

A thrill ran up Savo's spine. There would be no playing around at this auction.

Another man close to the back held up his card. "Sixty thousand."

The man in the front row countered. "Eighty thousand."

The auctioneer knew now that he was dealing with a piece of merchandise that was about to break all records. "Let's not be niggardly, gentlemen. Surely, someone will put up one hundred thousand."

"One hundred thousand," offered the man in the back row.

Over the next ten minutes, literally every buyer in the room put for a bid, going up in increments sometimes of ten thousand, sometime twenty or even fifty thousand. Before long, the bidding was up to three hundred thousand and down to two men.

"I have three hundred thousand from the House of Councilman Lutan," the auctioneer crowed. "Will you beat that, House of High Priest Meckkat?"

The representative of the latter simpered. "Three hundred and fifty thousand."

Savo thought he might rise to his own right there on the spot.

Yumichika continued to stand silent and coy, only daring to raise his eyes from time to time in a display of affected modesty.

"Three hundred and seventy-five."

"Honestly, Osa, what does Lutan need with another sex slave? He can't even make good use of the ones he already has," came the challenge from the High Priest's buyer.

Osa's response was equally vituperative. "It would appear that the High Priest spends more time delving into his own bed-slaves than delving into things holy. You should know that, Adwar."

Adwar scowled. "Four hundred and fifty thousand!" he proclaimed, pleased with himself for making a formidable jump in the bid.

"Four hundred and sixty thousand," Osa countered in a maddeningly calm, provocative tenor.

"Four hundred and sixty thousand!" The auctioneer was beside himself. "Do I hear five hundred?! Who will offer the highest bid in the history of this house?!"

From the back of the room came a new voice, deep and filled with certainty. It commanded everyone's attention. "The highest bid in the history of all the auction houses. Eight hundred thousand."

A vacuum of stunned silence almost sucked the air from the place, before the auctioneer stammered, "Eight—eight hundred thousand."

Adwar leaped to his feet and glared at the late bidder. "Oh, come now, Zibell, be reasonable! No one can compete with that kind of money!"

"Precisely," Zibell said, stepping out of the shadows.

Yumichika raised his eyes – not as part of his performance, but because he wanted to see what this man looked like. There was something in the man's voice that made him uneasy. It was a sort of sneering confidence, the carelessness of a certain brand of wealth, the cocksure self-importance of a man who knew he was better and more powerful than everyone else in the room.

And taking in his appearance, Yumichika could see immediately that it was not only the sound of the man's voice that gave such an impression. Everything Yumichika had suspected upon hearing him speak was confirmed in the man's appearance.

Zibell was tall and thin—too thin to be attractive. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, his gray hair pulled back into a long pony-tail. His face was pear-shaped, his fleshy cheeks making him appear as if he were storing nuts in his mouth. Yumichika could not get a clear look at his eyes, hidden under heavy folds of lid, but he could almost discern a disdainful down-the-nose gaze of disregard for the other bidders. He was dressed in well-designed clothing of fine fabrics. He wore gaudy rings on both hands and thick bangles on his wrists below the elbow-length sleeves of a pea-green waistcoat.

"So, the Orator wins again." This from Osa, who tossed his card to the floor. "Nice of you to wait until the last second to come forward."

Zibell was unmoved by their anger. "The Orator will have him," he said, walking down the aisle. "Unless someone wishes to outbid me." He was about to take the first step onto the platform, when another voice spoke out.

"Eight hundred and fifty thousand."

Zibell stopped and smiled. He turned towards the sound of the voice. "I might have guessed you would try to best my offer, Sinso. Has Lord Jubavi raised his age limit?"

Sinso remained seated, fanning himself with his card. He was a man very similar in appearance to Savo, except that his face seemed to be cast in permanent sarcasm. "What's it to you, Zee? Better my price or he's mine. And the little mouse that comes with him. You see, I don't mind paying that much for two, and neither will Lord Jubavi."

"Nine hundred thousand." Zibell let the words drop like stones.

"Nine hundred and fifty."

"This is annoying," Zibell sniffed, smoothing his hair with the ringed fingers of his right hand. "Let's make it a clean million and be done with it."

Sinso grinned. "He's all yours . . . for a million dema. I hope the Orator appreciates your judgment." He got up from his seat with a laugh and left with his own companions.

"One million," the auctioneer called out. "One million! Do I have a counter? Sold! To the House of Orator Nelphune!"

Zibell approached the house accountant who had been seated just behind the auctioneer. "Here is a note for one million." He wrote out a promissory. "Tomorrow, bring that yourself for payment. Do not send one of your men, not for that amount. Also, ask for me first and I will go with you to see the Orator's accountant. Such a sum will need verification of its genuineness."

Then, as the house was emptying out, he made his way to where Yumichika was still standing in display mode on the platform. He made a circle around him, visually examining his purchase.

"You're even nicer up close," he noted. "The Orator will be pleased."

"He'll be beside himself," Savo interjected, stepping up to remove the shackles.

"Yes, you're probably right," Zibell replied. "You outdid yourself this time, Savo. And a Shinigami, no less. How did you ever come up with this one?"

"Someone gave me a good tip," he shrugged. "Do you have your own bonds? He's tricky, so you don't want to take any chances with him. He tried to escape once already."

"My man has some," Zibell replied, and he motioned to his small entourage of two other men, both of whom came forward to change out Savo's shackles with their own straight-bar manacles. He looked back to Savo, "Will we see you tomorrow? Will you come with the house accountant to collect your money?"

"I will," Savo answered.

"Excellent, then you must stay for a meal," Zibell insisted. "I will order up the finest in appreciation of your amazing . . . procurement."

"I look forward to it."

Zibell returned his attention to his two assistants. "Take him to the carrier."

"Ahh, don't forget your bonus gift!" Savo bubbled, waving for the houseguard to bring Sweetie.

Zibell wrinkled his nose. "Oh . . . yes, of course."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Dear Reader, Okay this chapter's not as racy as the last one. It's kind of a scene-setter. The Gonow area is based on my trips to Egypt, along the Nile up to Aswan and back towards the canyons that house the Valley of Kings and Valley of the Queens. I find that area to be very beautiful. And Nelphune's estate and its goings-on are modelled once again after the sort of thing in Maia. Short chapter! Peace! TK**_

Chapter 11 Coming to the Orator's Estate

"_Are you sitting on a tiny island as the truth slips into view?"_

_Island  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

"Eh, no. No, you're up here."

Zibell directed Yumichika away from the wagon where the rest of the purchases—the slaves, still in chains, were being loaded into the back.

"I wouldn't risk you for five seconds in there, not at what I just put down for you. You will ride in the gharry with me."

Yumichika, his wrists now shackled in front of him, once again carried Sweetie in his arms. With assistance from one of Zibell' companions, he climbed into a very stylish carriage-like contraption pulled by two horses. He sat facing forward, holding Sweetie on his lap. Zibell climbed in after him and sat opposite.

The journey took them out of Gonow in an easterly direction, through parched sub-desert landscape, flat and cracking in the dry heat. The passed small clusters of mud-brick homes, outside of which chicken and goats roamed at will, and brown-skinned people stopped to watch the passage of the gharry as it rolled by in the cool of the evening.

Not a word was spoken for the first ten minutes. Zibell was busy making marks in a ledger he had brought with him. Apparently, he was recording the day's expenditures.

And so Yumichika kept his attention trained out the window, noticing that in the near distance, a low ridge rose up from the flatness like a slow-moving wave. It was in this direction that they were headed. As they drew closer, he noticed a narrow belt of greenery at the foot of the ridge, and he wondered if their destination lied somewhere therein.

Zibell's voice recalled his attention.

"What is your relation to this child?"

It was not the sort of thing Yumichika had imagined would be Zibell's first concern, but he answered evenly, "No relation. I was put in charge of her on the ship, and . . . I grew attached."

"And your intention is . . . ?"

"To keep her with me," Yumichika replied.

"And I suppose if she is taken from you, you will refuse to be as . . . agreeable as you were in the auction house," Zibell surmised.

"Agreeable?"

"Your performance," Zibell replied, and Yumichika knew then that he was dealing with a man who would not be easily fooled. "That whole public examination . . . I was impressed. That had to have been your idea. Savo would never have come up with something so provocative."

"I didn't realize you had seen it," Yumichika replied. "You didn't bid until the very end. I thought you had come in late."

"I was in the back of the room the entire time. I saw the whole thing," Zibell said matter-of-factly. "I can tell an experienced man when I see one. And judging from what I saw on the stage, I knew right away that you had quite a bit of know-how under your belt." A pause. "How does a man go from being a Shinigami to a being a bed-slave?"

Yumichika regarded him with hateful disdain. "He gets kidnapped by slavers."

"Don't be smart. You know what I mean. A Shinigami would be difficult for even the best slaver to abscond with," Zibell pointed out. "What happened to you that made it so easy for Savo to scoop you up? I've noticed you have very little spirit energy, unless you're suppressing it. Most Shinigami have palpable spirit energy."

"My history doesn't matter," Yumichika replied. "I'm here now."

"I don't fool myself for one second into thinking you're that resigned about your fate," Zibell said knowingly.

"I didn't say I was resigned," Yumichika replied.

Zibell gave a crooked grin. "I see. Will you attempt to escape?"

Yumichika resumed looking out the window. "Maybe. Or I might wait for my friends to come rescue me. Whatever happens first."

"You seem very sure of yourself."

Yumichika shifted his eyes to regard Zibell with an expression both challenging and mysterious. "I know how to survive."

Zibell liked this answer. "I'm glad to hear it. You just might need those skills in the Orator's home."

"So, who is he? What kind of title is _Orator_?"

"The Orator is the supreme arbiter of the law for the entire province," Zibell replied.

"He's a judge?" Yumichika asked in a tone meant to belittle the grandiosity of the title.

To this, Zibell offered a wicked smile. "You will decide that for yourself once you meet him."

Fifteen minutes later, they were approaching a spinney adjoining the eastern side of the green belt. Crossing over a narrow creek—the source of the greenery—they came to a wrought iron gate set into a high stone wall. Two men were stationed in a booth outside as sentries. They came forward to the gharry when it stopped at the gate, did a quick inspection and, seeing that it was Zibell, opened the gate and let him pass with no difficulty.

Within the stone walls, Yumichika felt as if he had entered another world.

A world of verdant lushness. Palm trees reached up overhead, their fronds making soothing shushing sounds in the light breeze that came down the shallow canyons in the mesa behind the green belt. Below the palms, the spindly branches of pink-flowered tamarask brought a dash of color between the spurts of persea and pomegranate.

Here and there, a stone fountain stood off in a flora alcove around which were woven paths of white pebble. Two hundred yards into the ground, a large ornamental pond appeared on the right, its surface dotted with blue lotus, its bank on the eastern side planted with scrubby date palms, its lower branches laden with the heavy, sweet-smelling fruit.

After the barrenness of the arid land between the sea and the mesa, this oasis of cool shade was refreshing, and it lifted Yumichika's spirits.

"Does all of this belong to the Orator?" he asked.

"Everything inside the wall," Zibell answered. "His property stretches down the Hemmock for nearly a mile north and two miles south."

"The Hemmock?"

"The little river we crossed. It's an offshoot of the great river Zemwa. Gonow is built on the Zemwa's delta. In order to cultivate and bring some relief to the hinterlands, diversions were dug into the Zemwa's banks. The Hemmock is one of those diversions." He paused, feeling a moment of self-importance, "Although its purpose from the beginning was to offer some luxury to superior families."

Five minutes later, the gharry pulled up in front of what was simply the most beautiful building Yumichika had ever seen. Palatial in size, at least a dozen different heights, it was clearly a stone structure, covered over with plaster, and painted the color of saffron yellow with gold highlight glittering around the windows with their decorative lintels and arched inset doorways. On the walls at various intervals were dazzling mosaics of birds and fish and naked men in boats, enjoying each others' company in such graphic detail that Yumichika felt it necessary to keep Sweetie's attention directed elsewhere.

The gharry proceeded to the northern most end of the building where, just a hundred feet short of the end of the wall, a wide opening led into a sort of courtyard with a raised fountain in the middle and hundreds of potted plants lining the left and right interior walls. The wall opposite the opening had another door large enough for a transport, but this door, made of solid, heavy wood and wrought iron braces, was closed.

But only for a moment. Someone out of sight must have seen the gharry's arrival and given word to open the gate, for after a few seconds' wait, the gharry passed through, continued on perhaps fifty feet and then stopped in front of another fairly high wall, this one with only a footgate bordered on either side by offices.

Zibell reached over and uncuffed Yumichika's wrists. "We're here."

He stepped down.

Yumichika followed him, turning to catch Sweetie as she sprang from the gharry with a shriek of laughter.

Someone opened the footgate from the other side, and Zibell motioned for Yumichika to go in before him.

Given the beauty of grandeur of everything outside the residence, Yumichika had been expecting to see even more splendor once inside. But he found himself standing in a very office-like setting. There was a room on his left and a room on his right, and while both were very neat and well-furnished, clean and orderly, they had none of the radiance of their surroundings.

Zibell directed him into the room on the right, where he stood before a desk at which no one was sitting, as Zibell sifted disinterestedly through some of the paper on the desk.

"You're late."

Yumichika turned towards the sound of the voice to see a man come through the door through which he himself had just entered.

"Heavy bidding," Zibell replied nonchalantly. "I think you'll agree it was worth it."

The man stopped short upon getting a better look at Zibell's latest acquisition. Clearly, he was impressed, but he quickly affected a condenscending attitude. It was never a good idea to let a slave know their own value. And from the look of this one, he probably already had a pretty good estimation of his worth.

"Hmph!" came the dismissive response, as he passed them both on the way to his desk. "How much did you throw down for this one?"

"More than you and I will make in a lifetime," Zibell replied.

"And what is _this_?" the man asked, looking at Sweetie with disgust.

"She stays with him," Zibell said.

"Not here, she doesn't. This is no place for a child, and I don't _want_ a child here."

"She stays with him, Damir."

Yumichika heard it immediately. There was an authority in Zibell's voice that made it clear the subject was not open to discussion, and that Damir was expected to simply do as he was told.

And in a strange way, it gave Yumichika a sense of satisfaction, for even though he'd only been in Damir's presence for barely a minute, he felt a visceral dislike for the man.

Damir had an effeteness to him that was truly grotesque and unsettling. He looked to be in his mid- to late-forties, caught for eternity beyond his prime and resentful of it. Yumichika knew right away that he was a man who valued his looks and his sexual attractiveness, but who had most likely seen his desirability erode over the years and now he was like the aging matron of a whorehouse, rolling over an eternal lament for his lost youth. He was tall—six feet if not a little taller—and angular without being skinny. He wore his reddish-purple hair in a girlish cascade of feathery front and ringletted back. It might have been the most garish, hideous coif Yumichika had ever seen. His eyes were amber and outlined in heavy black liner, then a line of color to match his hair, and just below his brows, thick gold. His lips were colored, his cheeks brightened by clown-like red pigment, and his brows plucked to pencil-thin lines. He wore a skin-tight white wrap of shiny material under what could only be described as a sari gone wrong, billowing in all the wrong places and drawing attention to sagging anatomy. He had multiple rings in his ears, and his fingers were barely visible for the jewels adorning them.

"I suppose I have no choice." He flounced past them to his desk, grabbed a folder from the center, and snagged Yumichika by the sleeve as he headed back for the door. He looked at Zibell. "Let me know when the Orator wants to see him. Fate only knows how long it will take me to prepare him. Honestly, why do you bring me these delicate flowers?"

Zibell grinned. "Damir, my friend—" even though it was clear to Yumichika that the two men shared not even an iota of camaraderie, "—I think you're in for a big surprise. And just for your information . . . he used to be a Shinigami, so I wouldn't be careless, if I were you."

"You wish you were me," Damir scoffed with a toss of his head.

Zibell could only shake his head in pity as Damir tramped out the door, his newest charge in tow.

Yumichika, still carrying Sweetie, was led by Damir along a trellis of flowering-vine, whose minute purple flowers gave off a mild, sweet aroma.

"What is your name?" Damir asked as if it were beneath him to have to inquire.

"Yumichika."

"Do you have a second name?"

"Ayasegawa."

"Were you stolen?"

"Stolen?"

"Taken by force?"

Yumichika sneered, "Of course, I was taken by force. Do you think I would volunteer to be a sex slave—"

"That is not what we call it here," Damir snapped. "Here, you are a bed-mate."

"Being forced to have sex against my will is nothing other than sexual slavery," Yumichika retorted.

"Call it what you please, but you _will_ do it," Damir replied. "If you refuse, you will be punished, and I doubt very much that you would enjoy the punishments here. The same thing applies if you try to escape. You will be punished. And don't think for one second that you won't be caught. You might have been a Shinigami, but so was the head of our House Guard. And I guarantee you, you wouldn't stand a chance against him."

"House Guard?"

"That's right. You don't think that an estate like this goes unprotected, do you? The Orator is wealthy enough that he has the strongest House Guard in the province. You would never be able to elude them," Damir said.

"Who is the head of the guard? You said he was a former Shinigami."

"Oh, you'll meet him soon enough," Damir brushed off the subject. "That's hardly my concern right now. As long as you know that the penalties for any kind of disobedience can be severe, that's what I want you to understand. Do you?"

"Yes," Yumichika nodded.

They came to the far end of the trellis and emerged into . . .

. . . the most hedonistic display of captivity imaginable.

Yumichika drew in a breath of wonder. Stretching out before him was a scene to rival the beauties of the ancient Greek and Roman architectures of the living world. A very wide, pale blue marble staircase led down a dozen or so steps to a broad, rectangular-shaped pool—also made of and bordered with more marble, this white. On either side of the pool were several raised patios of different levels, adorned with great stone pedestals that were topped in some cases with potted plants and in others, with statues of nude males in various poses. Just beyond the far end of the pool was a smaller bath of steaming hot spring.

To the right, at the level of the highest patio, which was even with where Yumichika and Damir were standing, a short-cut grassy lawn gave way to a sort of botanical garden, on the far side of which could be seen the main residence.

To the left, a few steps up from the pool stood a magnificent structure, with an open colonnade facing the pool and tall, elegant hall entrances visible behind the columns.

But what most stunned Yumichika were the two or three dozen men scattered throughout the scene. Grown men, young men, even a smattering of teenaged boys (if Yumichika were any judge) lounged on the chaises or in the grass. Some were in the pool or sitting in the hot spring. All were in various stages of undress, some completely naked. Two men lying in the grass made no secret of fondling each other. A young boy sitting near the pool was braiding another boy's hair. Another man who looked to be Yumichika's age was massaging an older man from his shoulders down to his feet.

But all activity stopped the moment Yumichika appeared with Damir at the top of the steps, and all heads turned.

"Come," Damir ordered, ushering him down the stairs to a white pebble walkway on the same level as the building to the left. "This is the bed-mates' area. This is the Hyacinth House, the bed-mates' quarters. All the bed-mates live here. I will show you to your room so you can . . . make yourself decent. You reek of the auction house."

They crossed the colonnade and passed through one of the vaulted hallways on their way to a partly enclosed cloister-type courtyard. Yumichika saw that, although from the outside, the main building appeared at least three stories high, it was only one level with a vaulted ceiling, just like the hallway. But the appointment was spectacular, the walls done in mosaic, the floor gleaming alabaster, elaborate sconces to hold magnificent torches. It was certainly nothing Yumichika would have imagined as slaves' quarters.

"This room," Damir said, referring to the great open room on the left side of the hall, "is the general assembly room. It's where you will eat, find entertainment, gather during poor weather, all purpose." Emerging onto the cloister walk, he led Yumichika past screened rooms, one of which he pointed out as the infirmary, then continued on a room near the end one side of the square, the adjoining side being composed not of another wing of rooms, but rather an elegantly hedge trimmed into animal shapes.

"This is your room."

Yumichika stepped inside, and he was immediately reminded of his room in Imakao's mansion. Every amenity was available, including a large, sunken tub like the one in Imakao's, enough wardrobe space to satisfy even Yumichika's desires, the finest bed coverings and decorations.

"It's stunning," he admitted.

"You are to stay in here until I send someone to get you," Damir informed him. "I will be sending two women to clean you up—"

Now, Yumichika definitely felt as if he had returned to Imakao's. He only wondered if the women would be like Kai and Hikei.

"I don't need help cleaning up," he stated.

"Do not mark your first day here by arguing with me," Damir warned. "I am in no mood for it."

"What about food?" Yumichika asked. "I haven't eaten in hours."

"There's food to be had at all hours in the general assembly, but since you are new, I will have the kitchen bring you something," Damir replied. "And I will send something suitable—at least temporarily—for you to wear. And for her." He stood at the door, but before leaving, looked back over his shoulder. "How much _did_ Zibell pay for you?"

"You will have to ask him," Yumichika replied, adding with a hint of arrogance. "He might not want me to tell."

Damir made a strange face, as if he did not like being left in the dark. "If you need anything, that cord will bring the servants. If you run into trouble—and by Fate, you had better not—make your way to the general assembly. We always have several of the House Guard on hand for protection."

"Protection?"

Damir's manner was proud. "Orator Nelphune's bed-mates are the most highly coveted in the province. Fate forbid someone should try to run off with you." He made a funny, sniggering sound. "Then, of course, sometime we need protecting from ourselves."

Once Damir was gone, Yumichika set Sweetie down and went over to the bed, collapsing into the luxuriant silks and satin and goosedown. He held out his hand, and Sweetie came to sit beside him. But, unlike Yumichika, she was not tired and had no interest in resting. After half a minute, she realized her companion was not going to play with her, so she got up and began exploring the room.

Yumichika drifted off, and he was not sure how long he'd been asleep, but when he was awakened by a knock on the door screen panel, it was the moment between twilight and darkness. So, he could not have been asleep long. Sweetie was sitting in the corner, babbling and laughing to herself.

"What have you got there?" he asked, heading towards the door, but his attention focused on her.

She turned to face him, and he did not know whether to laugh or cry, for she looked almost as dreadful as Damir. Her face was covered with all sorts of colors in a manner that had no relation to her eye or mouth. He opted for a laugh, not wanting to upset her; but he knew what the presence of a makeup kit in his room meant.

"That's not going to happen," he said out loud. "I'll just let _you_ wear it, Sweetie."

He opened the door and was stunned to find, not two women, but two young men standing on the threshold. Both looked to be close to his age, and both were handsome. But one of them was exceptionally attractive.

"We were sent to bathe you," the more attractive one stated.

"Damir said he would be sending women," Yumichika replied, looking from one man to the other.

"The women were busy, so he sent us instead," the same one said, while the other seemed to be on the verge of laughter. And suddenly, neither looked mannish anymore. They looked like boys.

"In that case, I can just bathe myself," Yumichika told them. "Thank you." He began to slide the screen shut, but the first boy wedged himself inbetween.

"Damir will get mad if we don't do it," he insisted. "We'll get in trouble—"

"You're already going to get in trouble!"

A woman's abrasive screech came from somewhere out in the cloister, beyond Yumichika's field of vision.

"Lamos! Heniashu! Get away from that door before I peel your skin from your flesh!"

The two boys broke away and fled laughing.

Yumichika looked out the door to see two women approaching, and he was almost tempted to call the two boys back.

Unlike Kai and Hikei, there was nothing petite or demur about these two. They were older, yes; in their sixties, perhaps. And as brawny as pipefitters. Their arms were laden with towels, soaps, rubs and ointments; and they moved with purpose and certainty.

Yumichika shrunk back from the door as the two women stood looking down at him with determination.

"Hem-hem! You do have some beauty, but it's all covered under layers of . . . "

"Shit. Call it what it is, Yilma. He's covered with shit."

Yilma pushed her companion aside with one muscular arm. "It's just dirt, you stupid bitch. Hem-hem, is there enough of him that we won't end up scrubbing him completely away?"

"Long as we don't scrub _it_ off."

Both women laughed.

"How much _it _can he have? Tiny little thing," Yilma quipped. "Better find out. You want the honors, Ulfa?"

Without bothering to give an answer, Ulfa piled her toiletries into Yilma's arms, shut the door behind them and in one swift move, tore Yumichika's shift completely in half, yanked it free, and tossed it aside.

"H-hey!" Yumichika cried out.

"O-ho! He's a show dog, now, isn't he?!"

"Let's get started," Yilma said with authority. "Get the water going."

Yumichika simpered. "Are you going to drown me?"

"Hell no," Yilma replied. "We're just going to make you clean enough to fuck."


	12. Chapter 12

Dear Reader, there's some sadistic stuff in this one, though nothing too bad. And yes, Yilma and Ulfa are two bawdy, raunchy chicks! The house guard are modelled after Roman soldiers, so I use some of the terms for their uniforms. I will be out of the net next week, so no update next Friday. But hopefully, I'll have a chance to work on the editing while I'm relaxing - making for several quick chapters to go up when I get back. Enjoy! Peace, TK

Chapter 12 Slipping

"_Gypsy of a strange and distant time,  
__Traveling in panic all direction blind  
__Aching for the warmth of a burning sun.  
__Freezing in the emptiness of where he'd come.  
__Left without a hope of coming home."_

_Gypsy  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

"You still have no idea where you are?"

"None at all. Without your senses, I'm completely cut off."

Ikkaku sat down heavily on one of the rocky outcroppings in the volcanic lair within his inner world. Hoozukimaru stood before him, arms crossed, demeanor placid enough.

"And you—you can't sense Yumichika around you at all?" Ikkaku pressed with a forlorn hope.

"No," the dragon replied. "I can't sense anything. I mean, normally, I can feel it when another powerful spirit energy passes nearby, but I haven't felt anything for days."

"So, either you're not around souls that have any energy, or you're in a place where spirit energy is blocked," Ikkaku said. "And we all know that the lower east is built upon seki-seki. That would seem to indicate that you're somewhere in the lower east."

"It's possible. And if the same people who have me still have Little Pretty, then he'd be in the lower east, too," Hoozukimaru stated. "How many more days until you arrive?"

"We just set sail," Ikkaku replied. "Three to four weeks."

"Three to four weeks? Snail's pace!" the dragon roared.

"I think so, too, but Jubal had good reasoning for us to take it slow," Ikkaku said. "I'm still not sure it's the right decision, but he made sense." He then related Jubal's logic to Hoozukimaru, who grudgingly agreed that prudence was preferable to rashness in this case.

"Little Pretty is smart," Hoozukimaru said assuredly. "He'll find a way to hold on until you get to him."

"What about you?" Ikkaku asked. "Will you be alright?"

"Damn, what choice do I have? It's not like I can manifest without you across so great a distance," the dragon answered. "In fact, I'm hoping you find me first. I feel like I could tear some throats out."

"You and me both."

* * *

Yumichika heard a knock at the door. Getting up to answer, he could see the backlit shadowy outline of a woman holding a tray on the other side.

He had ordered a meal earlier, using the pullcord in his room, which had brought a scurrying mouse of a woman to inquire after his needs. He could tell from the silhouette that this was not the same woman.

He got up and opened the door, relieved to see it really was a woman and not a young male prankster again. The woman handed him the tray, bowed and was off without a word.

It was now dark outside, and the courtyard was lit with perfectly trimmed torches, so that not a single wisp of smoke sullied the clear night air. From somewhere out of sight, the dulcet tones of a musical instrument – a woodwind of some kind – wafted across the stillness with the quality of fine crystal.

Yumichika walked over to the low table on one side of the room and dropped carefully to his knees, setting the tray down and taking a moment to gingerly massage his thighs.

The two women who had been sent to bathe him – Ulfa and Yilma – had been nothing, if not thorough, in their task. Yumichika felt as if his skin had been rubbed raw, and no part of his body had been off-limits. In fact, as the women had washed him, they had indulged in a bawdy, lewd running commentary of what they were observing, causing Yumichika to blush more than he had in years.

"Ah, now _that_ just might be big enough to satisfy even the Orator, doncha know!"

"How—how's a little tiny thing like you gonna . . . you got room in there? Bulls and stallions got ta have a place to put it, don't they?"

"Look at this ass—white as snow and smooth as mother's milk . . . "

"Such pretty little man-nipples! Makes me wish I was a baby again!"

"Aiiieee! There's other places as make better sucking, Ulfa!"

"Suck 'im dry!"

"Dry as a bone!"

"Dry as a boner!"

"Boner ain't dry!"

Yumichika wilted under their relentless banter and determined hands.

But by the time they were finished, there was not a dead cell left on his body. His hair was clean and conditioned. His body limp and lotioned. Not a speck of dirt under his fingernails or even his toenails. He was spotless and sore from all the handling. But being sore was preferable to being filthy.

To his great satisfaction, the two women had taken immediately to Sweetie, dumping her in the tub after finishing with Yumichika and, with much gentler hands, cleaned her up to the point where she looked like a little girl instead of an urchin.

As they had been cleaning, another woman had come by with some clothes. Very simple drape-like garments of white linen and pale blue cotton, gold-colored chain belts and pashmina-style wraps.

Yilma had dressed Yumichika in a sleeveless white tunic that draped down to his knees, tying it off with one of the gold belts. She had set him down on the edge of the magnificent floor-level bed, and told him not to lie down until his hair dried or he would ruin the fall of it. Yumichika had not dared disobey her.

Until she was out of the room.

That was when he had immediately called for room service, for he was starving, and then after placing his order, he'd flopped back on the bed and almost fallen asleep with Sweetie at his side, dressed in an oversized garment of similar design to the one Yumichika was wearing.

Then his meal had arrived, and now, he sat down to eat while Sweetie continued to sleep on the bed.

All things considered, the circumstances at the moment were quite good. He had been purchased into a house of means, and his living conditions could only be described as luxuriant. He might be a prisoner—a slave—but he was a comfortable one. For the moment.

But he had no illusions about what awaited him.

_Bed-mate_ left little doubt as to its meaning.

He was only left to wonder what sort of man the Orator was and to what kinds of men he would be made available. He imagined he would find out soon enough.

But in the meantime, he had to get acquainted with his surroundings, look for weaknesses, become accustomed to the routines, find the cracks in what was clearly a well-organized, well-protected operation.

And he could start by being just a little disobedient.

Damir had told him to remain in his room until someone came for him.

Yumichika decided that a man of his value would not wait. The rules that applied to others would not apply to him. At least, not all the rules and not to the same extent. And here was his first attempt at testing that extent. What limit would be set to his rebellious actions? How much did one million dema buy in terms of disregarding house rules?

He checked to see Sweetie still sleeping, then stepped quietly out onto the marble floor of the cloister walk. He headed to his left, where the walkway made a ninety degree left turn at the end of the building and continued along the rear wing, comprised of at least a dozen more rooms. These rooms looked out across a thirty-foot wide green lawn on the other side of the walkway. On the far side of the lawn, a stone wall rose to the height of four men. Beyond it, the desert reflected under the rising moon, and slightly off the right, the edge of the mesa could be seen angling away in the near distance.

Yumichika walked the length of the wing. At its end, it made another left turn onto yet another row of rooms, and directly opposite those rooms, on the far side of a tinkling ornamental water garden, was another wing.

The place was much larger than Yumichika had realized, and he began to wonder just how many bedmates the Orator owned.

Where the walkway joined back up with the main structure through a short arched hallway, Yumichika took the hallway, and here he ran face-to-face into a man who clearly had to be a member of the house guard.

He was tall—compared to Yumichika, anyway—and broad. Broad in a muscular sense. He wore a uniform every bit as grand as the house he served. The chiton, which hung down to just above his knees, was of a pliable soft suede, dyed deep blue but appearing black in the torchlight. Over it, he wore a sort of metallic vest of gleaming silver-colored linklets that allowed for unimpeded movement. His legs were covered with light-weight gauze braccae the color of desert sand, and his boots were of fine leather, etched with intricate designs of running horses. He wore a brilliant green sagum across his chest, and a cintus at his waist, which held a short-bladed sword. His black hair was short and perfectly symmetrical. His face, clean-shaven and pleasant, was that of a man in his mid-twenties and already well-disciplined.

The man looked down at Yumichika with an utterly neutral expression, but his mere size was intimidating, even if his manner was not.

"I think someone is looking for you," he said. Then abruptly raising his gaze and looking past Yumichika, he said in a slightly louder voice. "Is this the one?"

Yumichika turned to see Damir approaching.

"Yes, this is him. Good work, Supha."

Supha's voice was as even as his look. "He ran into me. I didn't find him."

"Yes, yes, well . . . you may go. I have it from here."

Supha regarded Yumichika once more, briefly, in the flickering torchlight, then he turned smartly on his heel and left.

"I see you're going to cause me trouble," Damir stated, with an irritating poutiness in his voice. "I do so hate it when slaves cause trouble."

"I was only out taking a look around," Yumichika replied.

"Looking for a way to escape?" Damir challenged.

"Not really." Yumichika allowed a provocative grin to show for a moment. "Not yet."

"Do you think you're clever? Of course, you do. I can see it in you," Damir lamented with suitable dramatic emphasis. "You think you're something special, don't you? Former Shinigami. Pah! You wouldn't stand a chance of outwitting or outrunning Campion."

"Campion?"

"The head of the house guard. Captain Campion." Damir almost seemed to be overcome at the mention of his name, taking a moment to run his hand through his hair and draw in an audible, swooning breath. "I despise the bastard, you know. But he is a force to contend with, and he has all the skills of a Shinigami. You'll come just at the sight of him."

"If he's so incredible, why do you despise him?"

The question unleashed a bombastic display of overacting. "Unnnhhhh! Ohhhhh! Because he's such an immovable . . . he has no . . . appetite at all! What would I give to have that man! I'd eat him all day and all night and . . . ohhh, the things I'd do to him!"

Inwardly, Yumichika cringed at the grotesque display of wanton sexual desperation. But on the surface, he was like glass. "So, why don't you?"

"He has no interest!" Damir replied. "None at all! Can you even imagine! No interest! No interest at all!"

"Maybe not in you," Yumichika taunted coyly.

"Not in any man," Damir shot back. "Not even a daffodil like you."

"We'll see," Yumichika shrugged.

"Oh, we'll see," Damir agreed. "And sooner than you think. The Orator wants to see you right away. He found out how much that fool, Zibell, paid for you, and now he wants to see if you're worth it. So, really, there's no time to waste. We've already thrown away precious minutes. Come." He began leading Yumichika back towards his room.

"I thought we were going to see the Orator," Yumichika said.

"You have to be made presentable first," Damir replied curtly. "The Orator would die if you walked in looking like that."

"I don't need help being beautiful," Yumichika snipped. "Believe me, there's nothing _you_ could do to make me more attractive."

"You're the type who likes to test me, aren't you? Leaving your room against my orders. Discarding my own beauty out of jealousy. Assuming you know better how to please the Orator than his own long-time favorites? Yes, well, I will deal with your brashness and disobedience later. Right now, you will do as I say or pay the consequences." They arrived at the room. "And the first consequence will be that I take your little princess and kick her out into the desert."

Yumichika was not fooled. "Zibell would have you skinned."

"You think you know Zibell? You're in for a surprise. Now, get in there and sit down while I do something with your face. Ugh, how could someone so plain have cost so much money? Well, leave it to me to make sure the Orator doesn't consider you a waste of his riches." He looked at the mess of opened containers and spilled pigments. "What is this?! Did you do this?!"

Yumichika smirked. "My little princess wanted to play dressup."

"Beastly thing! Do you have any idea how much these colors cost? This is the most expensive makeup in the province! It's all hand-ground and specially mixed and only available to the Orator's household! And look at it! It's all over the place—"

"That's alright, because I'm not going to wear it anyway," Yumichika interrupted.

"Oh yes, you are," Damir warned. "This is what the Orator likes, and he always gets his way."

"When he sees me, he'll change his mind," Yumichika replied confidently. "I'm perfect without it."

"Do you really want to defy me?" Damir asked, equally confident.

"I'll go with you, but I won't put any of that . . . garbage on my face," Yumichika replied.

Damir only nodded once with a smug glint in his eye. "I'll be back for you in less than thirty seconds." He stepped out of the room.

Yumichika sat down on the bed as Sweetie stirred but did not wake up.

True to his word, Damir returned within thirty seconds, and he had two other men with him, as well as Ulfa and Yilma. Yilma was carrying a long flat wooden box, painted black and fastened shut with metal buckles.

Yumichika's self-assuredness drained away somewhat. He started to his feet, but immediately, four of the five were upon him, with only Damir remaining just inside the doorway, looking on with gleeful impatience.

Yumichika could tell right away that he was experiencing a common occurrence, for his assailants knew precisely what to do. Each had his or her own task. The two men bound his wrists together as the two women sat on his legs, then he was hustled across the room to where a gold-colored post was fixed in the corner. He hadn't even noticed it until now. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a hitching post, about waist high and conspicuously the girth of man's penis at the top, growing wider in circumference closer to the floor. It was smooth all the way around, and at the base were two gold rings.

He was forced down on his back and his wrists affixed to one of the gold rings. The two men spread his legs and held him down, while Ulfa knelt between his legs. Behind her, Yilma knelt down with the wooden box.

Sweetie, awakened by the commotion, was screaming and pulling at whomever she could get her tiny hands on.

Yumichika, knowing something terrible—unknown, but terrible—was about to happen, pleaded for her to be taken away so she would not see whatever was coming in short order.

"Take her out, please!" he implored, struggling in vain against those holding him down. "Damir, please! She shouldn't see this—"

"Hmph!" Damir snorted with a toss of his head. "You should have thought about that before you decided to defy me. If she sees anything vile, it will be your own fault."

"Maybe so," Ulfa grunted, "But you'd better do something to keep her off me while I'm doing this, or we could end up with a real fuck-mire on our hands."

Clearly put off, yet Damir took a step forward, grabbed the little girl by the hair and pulled her back to stand with him, where she squirmed and screamed and cried every inch of the way.

Yumichika raised his head to see Ulfa holding withdraw a thin, rigid needle-like device from the open box. One end of the device which was smoothly rounded; the other, Ulfa was inserting into a small malleable sack.

"Use a bigger one," Damir ordered, but Ulfa resisted.

"It's his first time, Damir," she barked. "Don't be a shit. This'll be torture 'nuff to teach him a lesson."

"He'll have to get used to it eventually—"

"Then let it be eventually." This time it was Yilma who replied. "We all know you can fit a fucking stylus up yours, but if you ruin him because you're in a snit, and all that money goes to waste, the Orator will be fit to be tied—"

"How do you know how much he cost?" Damir demanded.

"We all fucking know!" Ulfa burst out. "Now, let me do this!" She was smearing a clear substance over the rounded end of the device. She glanced up to see Yumichika looking down at her, and although he was calm, there was fear in his eyes. "You just lay your head back, pretty bird. You won't want to see this." She spoke back over her shoulder. "Yilma . . . "

Yilma left her spot and dropped on her knees at Yumichika's waist. She placed her hands on his hips and used her considerable weight to press him down.

Until the moment he felt the pressure at the tip of his penis, Yumichika had not fully comprehended what Ulfa was intending to do to him. Now, he knew; and it was something that he'd never experienced before.

His entire body tensed.

"You'd better relax or it's going to hurt even more," Ulfa warned. With that, she slid the rigid catheter into the urethral opening and stopped.

The sound of Yumichika's screams were no different than the screams of the many other men she had heard before. She had initiated countless thousands of bedmates into the practice, both as punishment and later as part the pantheon of what pleased the Orator. She was skilled in knowing precisely how much any given bedmate could endure and how to increase that endurance. She knew how to inflict pain without damage; and she was a master at inveigling her patients – or victims – into desiring and relishing such pain.

Yet, she also knew that, although she was dealing with a young man who had the aura of previous sexual experience on him, it was clear that in this area, he was a virgin. And she so loved the indoctrination of virgins . . .

And this one . . . the way his entire body rattled with tension, the way his screams now gave way to gasping whimpers . . . the tears leaking from the corner of his closed eyes, leaving shiny trails across his temples . . . the feel of his manhood quivering in her hand . . .

Oh, this one she would take her time with. She had already established a certain fondness for him, and her perverse sense of affection would find its expression in prolonging the lowest levels of agony.

"Ohh, now, now, we've only just started," she chastised, turning the catheter ever so slightly and bringing forth another cry of pain.

"T-take it out!" Yumichika begged. "Please, take it out!"

Instead, she inserted it a little deeper, eliciting a choked burst of torment as Yumichika instinctively tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go, and he was being held fast by onlookers who were more than enjoying the whole scene.

"Stop it! S-stop it!" he wailed. "P-please . . . stop it . . . "

And still deeper.

By this time, Yumichika had already been reduced to a blubbering heap. It had taken only a matter of seconds to knock the arrogance right out of him, and he was ready to do anything to make the pain stop.

"Shhh, now. Stop all that carrying-on," Ulfa insisted, her voice filled with a twisted anticipation. "This is barely the size of a spider's strand." She slid it in further until Yumichika felt as if an incredible pressure were bearing down on him, and he feared he would urinate right there in front of all of them.

"Warm you up a little bit," Ulfa said. She gently squeezed the sack at the other end of the catheter.

Yumichika felt a warmth in that part of his body, and then to his horror, he was doing exactly what he had feared. He'd lost control of his own bodily function and found himself unable to stop the urge to urinate. Only he could not do it. The catheter prevented him; and the pressure, coupled with the inability, drove him to a whole new level of debasement as he sobbed like a child, unable to even form the words to beg for mercy.

"By all the Fates, what the hell are you doing?!"

Yumichika was only vaguely aware of Zibell's voice.

"Damn you, Damir! I told you the Orator wanted to see him, and you decide now is the time to slip him? Idiot!"

Yumichika cried out loud again as the catheter was quickly withdrawn, followed by the flow of urine which he was now unable to stop. The pain now gone, his tears turned to those of humiliation as it ran out of him where he lay on the floor.

"He would not obey me!" Damir shot back. "He could not make himself up for the Orator, and what kind of fool would I be to bring him before his Lordship looking so plain—"

"Untie him! Get him on his feet and clean him up!" Zibell ordered. He then turned to Supha, who had arrived with him. "Make sure he brings him in the next five minutes."

"Yes, Ki-Zibell."

Zibell was halfway across the courtyard, ignoring Damir's shouts after him; but the Master of the Bedmates caught him up. "What would you have me do when he won't do as he's told? He needs to learn obedience! He already feels his own eliteness, give what you paid for him—"

"You can do as you please to discipline him, Damir," Zibell replied stonily. "But _not_ when I've sent for him to be brought before the Orator. You, of all people, should know how Nelphune hates to be kept waiting. And you, of all people, should know that no matter how jealous you are of new arrivals—"

"I'm not jealous!"

Zibell ignored him. "No matter how jealous you are of new arrivals, if the Orator suspects you for one second of denying him what is rightfully his own property, purchased with his own funds, he will do much worse than slip you. You're not so invaluable to him anymore that he wouldn't hesitate to cut your balls off and stick a plug in you." He drew close and glared at him. "You see? I know how to be crude, as well. Now get back there and have him in the grand hall in five minutes!"

Damir stood trembling with rage as he watched Zibell stride angrily across the courtyard.

"These are my slaves," he seethed under his breath. "You stick with what you know best, Zibell. Lying and spending Nelphune's money. Leave these ones to me. I know what the Orator likes better than anyone else."

He spun around and returned to Yumichika's room.

Five minutes later, Yumichika—shaken and sore, though not seriously injured from the torture he'd endured—was on his way to the grand hall. He was accompanied by Damir and Supho. Sweetie had been left in the care of Ulfa and Yilma, against Yumichika's protests; and now as he was marched from the Hyacinth House through the trees of the botanical garden and to the main house, he had other things to occupy his thoughts at the moment.

The _slipping_, as they so euphemistically called it, had taken much of the wind out of his sails and subdued him. As a punishment, it had been highly effective; and from what little he recalled of the words that had been spoken, it was something he would be exposed to again in the future – and not merely as punishment.

How quickly and completely he'd been subjugated. He was not dealing with amateurs here. No, of course not. Everyone he was up against had vastly more experience at this sort of thing than he did. They were slavers in their own sense, and he was just another piece of property. Granted, a beautiful and expensive one, but property none the less.

He was not off to a good start. And yet, his hatred for Damir was already so strong, he was not sure he could mask it.

But upon entering the grand hall, Damir was swept from his thoughts like a broom sweeps dust under a rug.

For there, sitting on the far end of the room on a raised dais, unclearly seen across the distance yet dominating the very air in the hall . . .

Orator Nelphune.


End file.
